


Ineffable Tales

by shoebox_addict



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Rome, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Cooking, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Doctor Who References, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Historical References, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Inktober, Light Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, Noah's Ark, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), Wings, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-01-22 10:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 31,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoebox_addict/pseuds/shoebox_addict
Summary: Throughout November 2019, I used the Ineffable Inktober prompts to write one ficlet per day.If you'd like an abbreviated read, I recommend "At the Ritz," "Crepes," "Bookshop," "Bentley," and "Drinks."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 124





	1. At the Ritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During World War II, the basement bar at the Ritz was a swingin' party for the gays.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_London, 1941_

"They're...they're just destroying London," said Aziraphale. "I know I'm supposed to love the whole world, and I do. But I love this city just a little bit more. And they're destroying it."

"Uh-huh," said Crowley. He agreed wholeheartedly, but he was a bit distracted just then. He stood next to Aziraphale at the bar and studied the crowd in front of him. 

"Gabriel insists we can't intervene in situations like this," said Aziraphale. He had his elbows on the bar -- a sure sign that he was on his way to sloshed. "It's like...it's like the Plague all over again."

Crowley felt a twinge of pain at the memory. He'd found the angel in France, exhausted and trying to tend to as many families as he could manage. But everyone had been so dreadfully, irrevocably ill, and Aziraphale was on the verge of discorporating himself as he tried to help them all. Crowley wouldn't be surprised if he was staying up nights to direct bombs away from orphanages or something equally futile.

"Well," said Crowley, attention still divided. "My lot are pleased as punch. They don't even know I've been napping. They think I was lying low and working from the inside over in Germany."

"And you let them believe that."

"Yeah, ‘course. Can't let on that I've been hibernating and shirking my duties."

“But you were,” said Aziraphale. “Shirking your duties, I mean. Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to maintain my position here? I spent most of my time searching for something, _anything_ to thwart in your absence.”

“But not all your time, clearly.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, for example,” said Crowley, turning to him. “How did you come to find that the basement bar at the Ritz is a homosexual enclave?”

Aziraphale blushed a deep red and sat up straight. “My dear, I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Crowley stared at him over the dark lenses of his glasses. Aziraphale had told some whoppers in his time, but this one took the cake. The angel could also be quite oblivious, but he must have noticed that every person in the bar was as flaming as his erstwhile sword. 

“Come on, angel,” said Crowley. “You filled me in on the Royal Albert Hall, the _First_ World War, and scores of books I’m never going to read. But what were you actually up to all that time?”

Aziraphale took a sip of his wine and fiddled with the stem of the glass for a moment. “I learned the gavotte.” 

Crowley leaned in and turned his right ear toward Aziraphale. “I’m sorry? Is that code for something?” 

Aziraphale sighed and turned to him. “It was a dance, a marvelous dance. Quite by chance, I stumbled upon this gentleman’s club, and they were all learning the gavotte. Well, I needed something to do, what with you playing Sleeping Beauty, so I joined in. They were lovely fellows, every one of them.”

“Gentleman’s club, eh?” said Crowley. “Now that _has_ to be code for something.” 

“A bit, yes. Very discreet,” said Aziraphale. “They needed a place to, well, to let loose and be themselves. Everyone needs that. Anyway, I kept in touch with several of the members over the years, and then...other people began finding me.”

“Finding you?”

“Yes, all of a sudden I noticed couples enjoying...discreet moments of their own in the back shelves of the bookshop,” Aziraphale explained. “They weren’t causing any harm, so I just let them be. Ever since then, people just seem to find me.”

Crowley was grinning now, unable to stop himself. “Uh-huh. And how does that lead us to this fabulous establishment?”

“Oh, right,” said Aziraphale. “For whatever reason, they seem to think I’m like them. So a kind young man invited me here. That was last year, sometime in the spring. I had to let him down gently, of course, but I saw no reason to stop coming here. It’s a jolly atmosphere, don’t you think?”

“Very jolly, indeed,” said Crowley, adopting Aziraphale’s posh affect. He watched the angel drink his wine and felt overcome by fondness for him. Perhaps it was the eighty-year hiatus from Aziraphale's ridiculousness he'd recently experienced. 

"Say, why did you have to let this young man down gently?"

"Well, it's only right," said Aziraphale, taken aback. "I didn't want to lead the fellow on."

"No, I mean, why did you have to let him down at all?"

"Crowley, really." The angel finished his wine and gestured for another. "Your lot might delight in taking human lovers, but we don't go in for that sort of thing"

"No, right, of course not," said Crowley. "Not since the nephilim, at least."

Aziraphale gave him a withering look. "Yes, well. Anyway, they have such short lives."

"Oh, I know." Crowley took a sip of his whiskey. "At least you had your gentleman's club."

Aziraphale sighed and propped his face against the heel of his hand, elbows back on the bar. "For a short while, at least."

"No one else?" Crowley asked. He had no idea what he was fishing for, but he just kept casting his line. 

"There was Oscar," said Aziraphale, smiling and nodding to the handsome bartender who presented his third glass of wine. The bartender smiled back, an incandescent spread of teeth that was clearly seeking something beyond a tip.

Crowley set his glass down. "Oscar? Oscar who?"

"Oscar Wilde, of course."

"What, the…? The author? What are you on about?"

"I can lend you some of his books," said Aziraphale. "Naturally I have several signed first editions in my possession."

"Naturally," said Crowley. "Quite chummy with 'ol Oscar, were you?"

Aziraphale nearly choked on his sip of wine, cheeks going all red again. "Oh, my dear, no. Nothing like that. You know, humans."

"Yes. Humans."

"Listen, why are we still discussing the past?" said Aziraphale. "Now you know everything that happened while you were asleep, there's nothing more to wonder about. Shall we discuss the present day? Now that you're here, I'm wondering how you might feel about helping me with the air raids…"

As Crowley had suspected, Aziraphale was intimately involved with the defense of London. He served as one of several air raid wardens in Soho, and he passed out tea and biscuits when people took shelter in the underground. He nattered on for quite some time about how they could always use more hands, and how Crowley had always been rather good with children (an accusation that Crowley vehemently denied), until finally he agreed to help out.

"Never should have woken up at all," said Crowley, dragging a hand down his face. "Should have slept right through this mess."

"Yes, well. I'm rather glad you didn't."

Aziraphale rested his hand atop Crowley's, and Crowley didn't move away. And suddenly they were just another pair in the basement bar, taking refuge in a place where they could be themselves.


	2. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a special WIP project in his new greenhouse, and Aziraphale is a nosy bastard.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_South Downs, 2020_

Aziraphale glanced up from his book just in time to see Crowley walk past the window. He held his book up to his face, doing a very bad job of pretending to read while most definitely not spying. After a few moments, Crowley returned, walking back the other way. Aziraphale tried to see what he was carrying, but he couldn’t spot anything. He got up from his chair and peered out the window, watching as Crowley crossed the lawn to his greenhouse. As the door opened and shut, Aziraphale only got the barest glimpse of green. 

Rather disappointed, Aziraphale sat back down with his book but found that he couldn’t concentrate. They’d moved into the cottage six months earlier, and the greenhouse had appeared within their first few weeks living there. As an occult being, Crowley was able to avoid troublesome zoning rules and building permits -- there was simply an open plot of land, and then there was a greenhouse, and no one questioned its appearance. 

“Any plans?” Aziraphale had asked, standing beside Crowley as he studied the new building. 

“Fill it with loads of green,” said Crowley.

“Well, yes, obviously. But anything in particular?”

“Not sure yet. I’ll start with everything from my flat and see where that takes me.”

After that, Crowley spent large chunks of each day in the greenhouse. Something about his initial response to Aziraphale’s questions told him that Crowley didn’t want to be disturbed, so he kept his distance. After all, Crowley didn’t come barging into Aziraphale’s library asking what he was reading. Well, sometimes he did, but only when he was especially bored. Or when it was raining. Or when he simply missed Aziraphale. In any case, Aziraphale kept away for as long as he could manage, until the curiosity was eating away at his brain and making it difficult to concentrate on reading. 

One afternoon, Aziraphale marched across the back garden and rapped his knuckles against the greenhouse door. He’d barely stopped knocking when the door flew open to reveal Crowley with a smudge of dirt on one cheek. Aziraphale hadn't expected to find that as fetching as he did.

"Need something?" said Crowley. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything is perfectly fine," said Aziraphale. "I just wondered...might I have a peek at your plants?"

Crowley grinned at him. "Cheeky."

Aziraphale felt his face grow warm. "I didn't mean that, you know I didn't mean that. I want to see your actual plants. To be perfectly honest, I'm dying to know what you're growing in there."

Crowley's smile faltered. "Erm, it's not ready yet."

"What do you mean? How can plants ever be ready? Aren't they always in a stage of growth?"

"If you want to be technical, sure," said Crowley. "But I'm working up to something here, angel. I just need some more time. Is that all right?"

"Of course," said Aziraphale. "Yes, of course, my dear. I didn't mean to pry, I'm so sorry."

"Not prying, don't worry about it." Crowley gave him a quick kiss and patted his cheek. "I'll let you know when it's ready, I promise."

Aziraphale felt quite embarrassed for asking Crowley about the greenhouse. He should have known that he'd show off his plants when he was ready. So he returned to his library, and life returned to its predictable rhythm. But then another month passed, and another, until Aziraphale's patience was threatening to run out again. But he'd resolved to give Crowley his space, so he was reduced to sad attempts at spying when Crowley crossed the garden from the greenhouse to the shed. He never learned anything of consequence.

Nearly a year after they'd moved in, on a brisk autumn morning, Crowley surprised Aziraphale by knocking on the library window. When Aziraphale looked up from his book, Crowley waved cheerily at him. Aziraphale unlatched the window and swung it open with a smile. 

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he said. 

"It's ready," said Crowley. "The greenhouse, I mean. Will you come and see it?"

It wasn't that Aziraphale had forgotten about the greenhouse, he'd simply had to block it from his mind or he'd have gone mad with curiosity. Luckily there were many other things to focus on -- whatever book he happened to be reading, the delicious meals that Crowley made each night, the way Crowley's arms looked in his new t-shirt…

But as soon as the greenhouse was mentioned, Aziraphale's curiosity awoke at the back of his brain. "Really? You've been working so hard on it."

"Took a while to get it where I wanted it," said Crowley, looking a bit sheepish. "But...yeah, it's ready now."

"Well," said Aziraphale, folding his spectacles. "Let's have a look, then."

Out in the back garden, Aziraphale followed Crowley to the greenhouse. He couldn't help noticing the extra swagger in Crowley's walk -- that meant he was nervous. Aziraphale strode forward to walk alongside him and took Crowley's hand. Crowley glanced down and smiled warmly at Aziraphale. He'd stopped wearing his sunglasses a few months after moving to the cottage. After years of mere glimpses now and then, Aziraphale thrilled at being caught in the brilliant yellow gaze each morning.

When they reached the greenhouse door, Crowley held the handle for a moment and looked at Aziraphale. "I hope you like it."

Aziraphale was about to assure Crowley that he would love it no matter what, but then Crowley opened the door and Aziraphale was overwhelmed by jungle.

There was no other word for it -- Crowley had cultivated his own miniature jungle in a greenhouse in the South Downs. There was an abundance of trees, lush and green and so tall that Crowley would likely need to keep raising the roof of his greenhouse as they grew. Palm fronds framed the doorway, and a small gravel trail bordered by ferns directed him deeper into the fauna. There was a small pond, which could only have been installed with a demonic miracle, that boasted several varieties of lilypad. In the far corner there was, of course, an apple tree.

"What do you think?"

Aziraphale jumped, so enthralled by the marvelous plants that he'd nearly forgotten Crowley was there. "It's absolutely amazing, darling. I don't know how you managed it."

"Like I said, took a while," said Crowley. He hesitated for a moment. "I wanted our own version of the garden. Our own Eden."

Aziraphale turned to smile at him and found that Crowley was blushing furiously. It was even more endearing than when he came to dinner with dirt smudged across his forehead. The greenhouse did, indeed, feel like Eden. It wasn’t just the apple tree and the warmth, it was also Crowley standing beside him, looking like that. Aziraphale turned to Crowley and leaned up on his toes to kiss his forehead. 

“I love you,” he said. “And I love this Eden.” 

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, and they stood together amongst the trees. If he closed his eyes, Aziraphale could imagine that they were back in the garden now. But why would he do that, when they had something much better now?


	3. Crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley have both seen a man who has Crowley's face.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512

_London, 2007_

Aziraphale glanced again at the tea shop’s menu and wondered if he should order. Crowley never seemed very interested in food anyway, so surely he wouldn’t mind if Aziraphale started without him. But it was the principle of the thing -- their meeting couldn’t very well begin if one party hadn’t yet arrived, and so Aziraphale attempted to sate his hunger by ogling the cakes and crumpets on his fellow patrons’ tables. This did not work. He waited ten more minutes before ordering himself a vanilla rooibos tea and a scone, to keep him company while he waited. 

As Aziraphale finished his scone and was contemplating ordering another, Crowley arrived at last, striding into the shop and glancing behind him nervously. Aziraphale’s arms went all tingly -- was someone onto them after all this time? 

“My dear,” he said, as Crowley sprawled into the seat across from him. “Is something the matter?”

“Er, sort of,” said Crowley, ducking down to peer through the window, under the painted letters of the shop’s name. Then he glanced back at Aziraphale and quickly shook his head. “Not like that. If I had demons on my tail, I wouldn’t lead them straight here.” 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, relaxing instantly. “Then what are you looking for?”

“It’s a bit silly,” said Crowley, glancing toward the window again. He leaned in conspiratorially, arms crossed on the table. “I just...this is gonna sound ridiculous. I just saw someone with my face.”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what’s happening?” 

Crowley sighed and leaned back again, chewing at his lip. “Yeah, there’s just no way for it to not sound strange. I was on my way here, and I swear to you I saw someone who looks exactly like me.”

“Perhaps it _was_ a demon?” Aziraphale asked, keeping his voice low.

Crowley frowned at him. “Hell may be disorganized, but I don’t think they’re recycling corporeal forms. Especially not one so dashing and recognizable.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea. “Well, what was this doppelganger wearing? What was he doing?”

“I dunno what he was up to, but he was wearing a brown suit and this long trenchcoat,” said Crowley. “And some ridiculous red trainers. I’d never wear those trainers. He was with a woman, a blonde in overalls.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. He set down his teacup and folded his hands in his lap. “I do believe I’ve seen them, actually.” 

“What? Where? Why haven’t you told me?”

“Well, it’s a bit complicated.”

“What’s complicated about it? You’ve seen a man with my face, and you didn’t think to tell me? That’s something a person should be told.”

“Yes, well, I saw them at Queen Elizabeth’s coronation.” 

Crowley gaped at him. “What? In 1953? D’you mean you saw them as children…?”

“No, they were not children,” said Aziraphale, slowly. “What a strange question.”

“We must be talking about different people,” said Crowley. “The bloke I saw was thirty, thirty-five, tops. The woman was a bit younger. They were most certainly not alive for the coronation.” 

“Even so,” said Aziraphale. “Was the woman...well, was she a bit toothy?”

Crowley scrunched up his nose. “Toothy?” 

“Yes, you know, lots of teeth.”

“Oh, right, as opposed to very few teeth,” said Crowley. “Sorry, I didn’t stop them to give her a full dental examination.” 

“Look, you’re the one who brought this up.” Aziraphale drained his teacup and got the waiter’s attention. “Are you having anything?”

Crowley sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I dunno now, I’m all out of sorts.”

“I’ll get you an earl grey,” said Aziraphale. He also asked for another scone and a selection of their tea sandwiches. With the order placed, he settled back in his chair and studied Crowley, who was seemingly deep in thought, eyebrows quirked downward. 

“Y’know,” he said. “I mocked you, and I’m sorry for that, because now I think maybe this _is_ another demon. I mean, how else is he spanning decades looking exactly the same?” 

“I can’t imagine,” said Aziraphale. 

“And where does he get off doing that anyway? That’s my thing! Bastard. First he steals my face, and then he steals my whole gambit. I bet this is Hastur’s doing.” 

“Certainly could be,” said Aziraphale, patiently. 

Crowley sighed and shifted in his seat. “You’re sure it was them? At the coronation? I mean, I can’t say for sure whether this woman was toothy.”

“If you saw a man who looks just like you, then I’m certain we’ve seen the same people,” said Aziraphale. “As you say, you have a rather distinctive face.”

“Why didn’t you say anything back then? When you saw them?”

Aziraphale was spared from having to answer, as the waiter brought over their tea and treats. But once he’d gone and Aziraphale had chosen a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich, Crowley was still staring expectantly at him. 

“Well, we weren’t on very good terms back then, were we?” he said, at last. “I...I actually wanted to call you up, to see if you wanted to attend the coronation with me. But I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear from me.”

“Ah,” said Crowley. He took a sip of his tea, somewhat sheepishly. “Right.”

Aziraphale preferred not to dwell on the late nineteenth or early twentieth century. If it came down to it, he wasn’t too keen on the sixteenth century either, but for very different reasons. And he positively despised the uncomfortable look on Crowley’s face just then, so he cleared his throat and changed the subject. 

“Did you have any business to discuss?”

“Hmm?” said Crowley, glancing up at him. “Oh, yeah. I’ve got some amazing ideas lined up for this new iPhone thing.”

“Oh?” said Aziraphale. “What’s that all about?”

“What? The iPhone? Angel, you’ve got to get your head out of those dusty books,” said Crowley. “It’s the big new thing! Flashy, overpriced, directly up my street.”

Aziraphale smiled and nodded, encouraging Crowley to continue. As the afternoon wore on, they forgot about the mysterious doppelganger. More importantly, they forgot that there had ever been a time when they were on less than friendly terms.


	4. Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale considers what he would have done before the apocalypse, and then he does the reverse.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512

_London, 2019_

The realization struck him at the Ritz, as he sipped his champagne and gazed at Crowley. Mere hours earlier, he had been in Hell, and he’d somehow succeeded in fooling the demons assembled there. He’d flicked water at the ogling hoards and luxuriated in a bathtub full of holy water. Now he was dining with Crowley, and for the first time he felt like he didn’t need to hide. Thoughts crept into his mind as he sat there -- were there angels at that table over there? had they been followed? should he even be here? -- and he was able to confidently bat them away. Heaven and its constraints were no longer his concern. 

In the past, Aziraphale would have asked Crowley if he had any business to discuss, to maintain the plausible deniability that that had been there reason for meeting. Now he felt no compunction to discuss either of their former workplaces. Instead he reached out and placed his hand on top of Crowley’s. When the demon looked at him quizzically, slightly panicked, Aziraphale simply beamed at him. 

“This is lovely,” he said. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

Crowley gulped. “Er, yeah. I mean, me too.”

In the past, Aziraphale would have clasped his hands in front of him as they walked to the Bentley. Now he looped his arm with Crowley’s and smiled at everyone they passed in the short walk to where Crowley had parked. When they arrived at the bookshop, Aziraphale considered that he would normally bid Crowley farewell and retreat into his shop alone. But that wasn’t what he wanted to do at all. That was simply what he’d thought he should do, when he was bound by his heavenly duties. 

“Would you like to come inside?” he said, turning to Crowley. He had never before presented such an explicit invitation. Aziraphale had simply never thrown Crowley out when he’d appeared at the shop. That way, he could say the demon had forced his way in. 

“Sure,” said Crowley, after moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, why not?”

Why not, indeed, thought Aziraphale. There were no more impediments, no barriers blocking his way. As he unlocked the shop door, he realized what he wanted to do most of all. It was something he’d been thinking about for a very long time, ever since a certain satchel of books had been saved from a Nazi bomb. Something that had always seemed most definitely off limits. But now…

Now Crowley was in his shop, lingering near the doorway as if he wasn’t sure whether he truly was welcome. He had the tips of his fingers tucked into the ridiculously impractical pockets of his very tight jeans, and he was peering around as if he’d never been there before. Aziraphale was afraid he might run; this was all so new, and he didn’t want to scare him away. He’d spent millenia trying to dissuade him, trying to push him away for their own safety. Now he wanted to bring him in close and make him feel safe. 

“Wine? Tea?” he said, walking toward the back room, hoping Crowley would simply follow. 

“How about coffee? We never have coffee,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale frowned. Coffee was all punch and no subtlety, though he knew that was rich coming from someone who drank a mug of barely diluted chocolate each night. “I can make you some coffee, if that’s what you’d like.” 

Crowley did follow him then, striding along with his swinging hips and almost unsteady steps. Aziraphale had absolutely no idea how one made a cup of coffee, so he brought out two teacups and gestured with both hands, filling one with a rich Colombian blend and the other with Darjeeling. He was actually relieved that Crowley had mentioned coffee rather than opting for a glass of wine. He’d prefer for them both to be sober just now. 

“Here you are,” he said, handing Crowely his coffee. “A change of pace can be nice, eh?”

Crowley nodded and took the cup. “It had better be. We’re in for a pretty big change of pace.”

“A good one, though,” said Aziraphale, smiling and sipping at his tea. 

Crowley didn’t know what to think, Aziraphale could tell by the worried crease that appeared between his eyebrows. It was a reasonable reaction to have once you’d averted the apocalypse and waltzed into Heaven to breathe hellfire at some archangels. But he hoped Crowley wasn’t too confused by his romantic efforts. He hoped that, after all these years, Crowley at least had an inkling of how he felt. In the past, Aziraphale had kept it all close to his chest, so close that it burrowed under his ribcage and never saw the light of day. 

“My dear, it’s time that I said something,” he said. Crowley glanced at him over his glasses, which had begun to slip down his nose. “I love you, and I have done for some time.”

“Oh…” said Crowley, mouth agape in surprise. “Did you...did you have too much to drink at lunch or something, angel?”

Aziraphale laughed and shook his head. “No, darling. It’s just...I feel so gloriously free now. I want to do what I’ve never been able to before.”

“What’s that?” said Crowley, his tone half wary and half hopeful.

Aziraphale came to sit beside him on the sofa. He’d spent years keeping a careful distance between them, whether it was in this back room or on the bench in St. James’ Park. But there was no reason for distance now. Aziraphale inched closer until their legs were touching, and even that simple point of contact was thrilling. 

“May I kiss you?” he asked. 

Crowley’s eyes went wide, and then he said, “Oh, I wish you would.”

So Aziraphale leaned in, closing the gap they’d held open for far too long. He pressed his lips to Crowley’s mouth in a chaste expression and gasped when he felt the demon’s arm snake around his waist. He pressed closer, and Crowley kissed him this time, slow and sweet, treasuring the moment. When they broke apart, Crowley chuckled, a beautiful smile on his face. 

Aziraphale grinned. “An excellent change of pace.”


	5. Alpha Centauri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relationship blossoms in the wake of a failed apocalypse.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell & Co._

_One month after the apocalypse_

“What exactly would we have done on Alpha Centauri?”

Crowley lifted his head from the pillow to peer down at Aziraphale, whose head was resting on his chest. “Hide, mainly.”

“I see,” said Aziraphale, fingers grazing back and forth along Crowley’s hip bone. “Only, it is a star system, isn’t it? It’s not like this planet.”

“Yeah, well...I didn’t say we’d be able to keep these corporeal forms.”

“I assume you would have told me about these conditions at some point.”

“Of course.”

Aziraphale was quiet for so long that Crowley assumed he’d fallen asleep. He closed his own eyes, warm and comfortable with Aziraphale’s body pressed so closely to his. Neither of them had the strength or desire to pull the duvet up, and for now that was fine. Crowley was pleasantly drowsy, somewhere between the afterglow of an orgasm and regular wakefulness. If the rest of the day stretched on like this, languishing in bed, he certainly wouldn’t mind.

“I rather like this form, as you know.”

Crowley stirred with a slight groan. “Yes, I know. But you wouldn’t have made that sacrifice for me? Our honeymoon period was very short, angel.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Aziraphale. “This isn’t about wearing clothes or eating crepes. We wouldn’t be able to do _this_ if we didn’t have these forms.”

As Aziraphale began tracing patterns along his ribcage, Crowley smiled to himself -- he should have known. All those years he spent watching the angel indulge in flaky pastry and expensive wine, it had never occurred to him that he would be a hedonist for this sort of thing as well. Certainly, he’d entertained fantasies of falling into bed with him, but he’d never been sure if Aziraphale would be receptive. Now he knew -- _receptive_ was an understatement.

“Don’t you think we’d find new ways to meld and stuff?” he asked. “Something ethereal, something befitting the stars?”

“I have no idea, my dear,” said Aziraphale. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s breastbone. “You’re the astronomy expert.”

“I wouldn’t say expert,” said Crowley, shivering slightly as Aziraphale scraped his teeth along his right nipple. “Recreational enthusiast, at best.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, you built some of those lovely galaxies up there.”

“Not Alpha Centauri, though.” Crowley hissed with pleasure as Aziraphale sucked gently at his collarbone. “Figured I’d pick one not related to me at all. Harder for them to find us.”

Aziraphale stopped what he was doing and looked up at Crowley. “You really were frightened, weren’t you?”

“Yes, of course!” said Crowley. “You get used to one way of life, and then your completely mad supervisors threaten to tear it all away. I was panicking, angel.”

“Oh, Crowley. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it at the time. I was so preoccupied with trying to stop it all.”

“It’s all right,” said Crowley. “All that matters now is that it’s over.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t run away with you. I should have, I wanted to. If you asked me today, I would go.”

“Well, I would,” said Crowley. “But you make an excellent point about these corporeal forms being good for certain activities.”

Aziraphale pushed himself up so he could capture Crowley’s lips in a kiss. Crowley closed his eyes and threaded his fingers into the angel’s downy hair. He’d thought about his hair on an embarrassingly regular basis, wondering how soft it might actually be. There had been many drunken nights on which Crowley had wished the angel would lean against his shoulder, just so he could turn his head and feel those soft curls against his cheek. Now he didn’t even have to ask. Now Aziraphale came to him, tongue pressing into his mouth and fingers insistent against his hips. It really was a mad old world.

“I love you,” said Aziraphale, pulling back to kiss along Crowley’s jaw.

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. The sex was easier to get used to than the sudden appearance of those three little words. Of course, he’d wanted to hear them for ages, but they still sent a shock of panic up his spine. He still couldn’t help worrying that Aziraphale would be punished for this, for how he felt about him. The panic would recede with time, he hoped. For now, he forced himself to say the words he’d felt so deeply for so long.

“I love you, too,” he said, cupping Aziraphale’s jaw and pulling him for another kiss.


	6. Crepes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adventures in cooking and feeding one’s angel. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co  
Six months after the apocalypse_

“You know, I’ve just had an idea.”

“Mmrf,” said Crowley, who had buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. He would be incapable of generating any new ideas for at least a few hours. Even then, any ideas he had would likely focus on getting right back here, with a brain that was more like post-coital soup. 

“What if we learned how to make crepes?”

Crowley sighed and turned his head. He was, at least, capable of speech. “Angel, have you ever cooked anything? Ever?”

“No, not as such,” said Aziraphale. “No. I suppose the closest I’ve gotten to cooking is dipping sushi in soy sauce. Or squeezing a lemon over some lobster.”

“Then why the sudden brainwave?”

“It’s a brave new world,” said Aziraphale. “We’re free to do as we please, and I’d like to find some new hobbies.”

“Why not knitting?” said Crowley. “Knitting could be fun. On the plus side, knitting won’t potentially burn down your bookshop.”

“You never know, I could be very bad at knitting,” said Aziraphale. He carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair and Crowley melted against him. “And I might be very good at cooking.”

Crowley said nothing, but he privately doubted that possibility. He’d seen the angel miraculously replenish his tea and biscuits enough times to know he wasn’t too keen on the kitchen. He purchased a very expensive cocoa mix, miracled in the necessary milk, and mixed it all together with a miraculous sweep of his fingers. The cocoa came out perfectly each time, but that had nothing to do with Aziraphale’s cooking prowess.

“Your silence is noted,” said Aziraphale, wryly. But he didn’t stop massaging Crowley’s scalp, so Crowley knew he wasn’t too upset with him. 

“What? I just dozed off for a bit, that was nothing,” Crowley lied. 

“Yes, well. Perhaps I should wait until you’re not here to make my attempts at cooking.”

Crowley froze, heart in his throat. “D’you...guess I’ve been spending a lot of time here.” 

“You have,” said Aziraphale. His fingers were still moving gently through Crowley’s hair. “I’d noticed. In fact, we haven’t been out of each other’s sight since we gave the old two-fingered salute to Heaven and Hell.” 

“Right. Yes,” said Crowley. “Well, I mean, I didn’t think...do you want me to go, then?”

“No, my dear, I don’t,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless you want to go. That is, I don’t want you to feel like you need to stay here.”

“I don’t feel like I _need_ to,” said Crowley. He pushed himself up so that he sat shoulder to shoulder with Aziraphale. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley laughed, a bit of nerves mixed with amusement because it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard. He rubbed the back of his hand gently along Aziraphale’s cheek. “Yes, I’m very, very sure.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows relaxed and he smiled in a way that was warm and familiar. “Glad to hear it.”

Later that week, though Crowley was present to witness it all, Aziraphale attempted to make crepes. He had an ancient French cookbook, from which he read a recipe for crepes at least a dozen times, spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Crowley went to the local grocer’s to retrieve all the necessary ingredients, plus a new packet of expensive cocoa mix. Aziraphale was so touched by the surprise item that he cornered Crowley by the front door, and crepe making took a back seat to other endeavors.

Slightly rumpled, they returned to the kitchenette in Aziraphale’s flat. Aziraphale read through the recipe once more, and then began mixing his batter. He only used miracles to measure out the ingredients, as he didn’t have any tools for doing so, and to melt the butter. He looked quite pleased with himself when he managed to crack the eggs perfectly and not introduce any shells into his batter. He mixed everything together, began heating up his pan, and then stood staring at it for a moment. 

“Crowley?” he said, turning to him, a streak of flour across his forehead. 

Crowley smiled fondly at him and stood up from the table, where he’d been patiently -- and quietly -- observing. He brushed the flour off Aziraphale’s forehead and kissed him gently. “I’ll do the first one, eh?”

Crowley had just as much experience with cooking as Aziraphale had, which is to say none. But he had an advantage in that he’d watched an exorbitant amount of cooking shows in his time. He’d dove head-first into cable TV, and his telly could pick up the Food Network long before it crossed the pond. He’d seen approximately fifteen chefs with varying degrees of obnoxious personalities make crepes. As he stepped up to the griddle pan -- where had that come from? -- Crowley summoned all of his television cooking knowledge. 

With Aziraphale hovering nearby, Crowley poured a portion of batter onto the pan and then tilted it to form a circle. It was a bit lopsided, but Aziraphale let out an impressed “ooh,” so Crowley considered it a success. “Now we wait.”

“For what?” said Aziraphale, staring down at the crepe.

“For it to cook, angel,” said Crowley. “What does your book say?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Aziraphale put on his spectacles again and peered at the book. “Cook for two minutes, or until the underside is golden brown.”

Crowley conjured up a spatula and gently lifted the crepe. “See? Too pale.”

“Aha,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley wiggled the pan, shifting the crepe this way and that, periodically checking the underside. On cooking shows, people were always moving their food around. He had to assume that it was integral to the cooking process. Eventually, the crepe reached a perfect golden, crispy state, and Crowley transferred it to a plate that Aziraphale had waiting. 

“Go on, try it,” he said, waving his hand to cool the crepe just enough. 

Aziraphale gingerly rolled up the crepe, and by the time he brought it to his mouth, it was filled with chocolate hazelnut spread. Crowley decided to allow that -- he’d mixed up the batter by hand, after all. He watched the angel study the crepe and take a rather large bite, his eyes falling shut as he savored it. Crowley watched and wondered why he’d never taken up cooking before. It seemed so obvious now -- if he’d started cooking, using the excuse of needing a new hobby, he could have watched the angel eat as much as his heart desired. And his heart certainly desired. 

“My dear,” said Aziraphale, licking his lips. “That was positively -- mmf!”

Crowley cut him off with a kiss, pressing his tongue into Aziraphale’s mouth, chasing the taste of chocolate. Aziraphale moaned softly, kissing him back once he’d gotten his bearings. Crowley walked them back until Aziraphale bumped up against the larder door. With one last lick, Crowley pulled back.

“You know something,” he said, grinning at Aziraphale, who looked a bit dazed. “I’m rather fond of cooking. Shall I get another one going here?”


	7. Mesopotamia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The demon Crawley stows away on a ship.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_Mesopotamia, 3004 B.C._

The world had flooded, and it had taken less time than Aziraphale might have thought. When the waves came crashing into the valley, he'd closed his eyes, not wanting to see those who'd be swept away. Noah, his family, and the animals he'd rounded up were safe on the ark, and after the water had risen enough, Aziraphale joined them. He'd been assigned to look after those on the ark, but at that moment he was feeling too seasick to do much of anything.

"I think I'll go below deck for a moment," he said to Noah. "Just to see if this passes."

Once in the bowels of the ark, Aziraphale enveloped himself in his wings and took several calming breaths. He drew upon his grace and slowly his stomach settled. Human corporations, he thought, were far more trouble than they were worth. He turned to leave but paused when he heard a jostling near the rhinos. Perhaps it was the monkeys causing trouble. Aziraphale sighed before going to investigate -- he'd not been trained for this.

What he found behind the rhinos was most certainly not monkeys. It was, in fact, a red-haired demon and a family of four. 

"Crawley? What do you think you're doing here?" 

Crawley grinned widely at him. "Hey. Would you believe that these are four distant relatives that Noah was about to leave behind?"

"I would not," said Aziraphale, arms crossed over his chest. "May I speak with you in private?"

"Sure, sure," said Crawley, standing up from his cramped spot. He turned to the family he'd been hiding. "Guys, just stay put. I'll be back in two shakes of a unicorn's tale. Remember unicorns? Keep their memory alive."

Sighing heavily, Aziraphale led Crawley to the other side of the ship, far out of earshot of the family. "This seems like a fairly small way to defy God's will."

"It isn't small to them," Crawley hissed, pointing back to the family. "I would have defied Her bloody will ten times more if I'd been able to. But I figured the most I could get away with was four. So here they are."

"How am I supposed to explain this?" said Aziraphale. "They'll want to know why four extra people were saved."

"_Extra_ people?" said Crawley, incredulous. "Is that what God thinks of Her creation? Just a whole bunch of surplus animals wandering the planet? I mean, I guess so, because She decided to flood them out of existence."

"It's all part of the great plan," said Aziraphale, gesturing downward with his hands. He often did this when explaining the plan to humans, quietly drawing a miraculous curtain of calm around them. It occurred to him that this wouldn't work with Crawley. 

"Stupid plan," said Crawley. "Imbecilic plan, more like."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "You can think whatever you like, but you can't just go around interfering like this."

"I think you'll find that I can," said Crawley. "In fact it's expected of me. This is basically the whole point of my existence -- to be a big annoying twig in the eye of the great plan."

"Fine, I understand, you don't care about the plan," said Aziraphale. "You're just creating problems for me. Had that occurred to you?"

Crawley stared at him, then shook his head and held up his hands. “Why would that matter to me?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll just deny any knowledge of you and your stowaways.”

He turned to go back up on deck, but Crawley grabbed the sleeve of his robe. “Aziraphale, listen. Tell me this doesn’t bother you. Do you really think this is the right move? I mean, look at those people. Why should they be drowned? For what?”

Aziraphale wavered in spite of himself. Privately, he did feel rather sad for the people living in the valley. They hadn’t done anything to deserve this. And he wasn’t sure what was so special about Noah, if he was honest. But it was not his place to question any of this. It was not his place to speak to Crawley or to entertain any of his notions. He tugged his sleeve out of the demon’s grip and glanced back toward the hiding family. 

“Just keep quiet,” he said.

Crawley nodded and winked. Aziraphale frowned and hurried up to see Noah, to do his job.


	8. Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley doesn’t like the beach, but he does like to see Aziraphale happy.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_Palace Pier, 2021_

“I don’t like ice cream,” Crowley grumbled. “I don’t like sun, I don’t like the sea--”

“Yes, all right, dear,” said Aziraphale, placing a placating hand on his arm. “You’ve made your feelings known. But, as we’ve established, it was my turn to choose a weekend outing.”

“But this?” said Crowley, waving his arms around at the wide expanse of sky and crowds of tourists. “Do you not love me anymore? Are we finished?”

“Of course, that must be it,” said Aziraphale. “Shall we get some fish and chips?”

Crowley followed Aziraphale to a food stand boasting the most authentic fish and chips in all of Great Britain. He wasn’t sure how one would measure such a claim, but he was almost positive it wasn’t true. Despite this, and despite the fact that he wasn’t as keen on eating as Aziraphale, he had to admit the fish and chips were delicious. They ate as they walked down the pier, Aziraphale watching the humans and Crowley watching Aziraphale. The angel was dressed as casually as he’d ever seen him in linen trousers and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. He was even wearing a sun hat. 

“Come along,” said Aziraphale, taking Crowley’s hand. “We simply must sit on the beach.”

“No, no,” said Crowley, dragging his feet. “I’ve got to put my foot down, angel. It’s one thing to be out in the sun all day. It’s quite another to sit around in sand and wade into the water.”

“Ooh, yes, we must get our feet wet,” said Aziraphale, grinning from ear to ear. “And it’s mostly a pebble beach, dear. No need to worry about getting sand in your boots.”

Of course, as much as he grumbled, Crowley would never actually deny Aziraphale the experience of a beach day. When he’d first mentioned it, in the dead of winter, when Crowley was having to work overtime to guard his plants against the frost, his eyes lit up with such excitement. Crowley had resigned himself then to the beach day, it was only a matter of time. Naturally he’d forgotten about it until a week earlier, when Aziraphale showed him the beach umbrella he’d bought in town. 

“For the back garden?” Crowley asked absentmindedly, peering at some spots on his fiddle-leaf fig. 

“No, for the beach!” said Aziraphale, grinning at him.

So here he was, watching Aziraphale make his way toward the sea, beach umbrella tucked under one arm and a tote bag filled with books and sweets slung over the other. Though the sun was too much -- especially given the fact that he was wearing all black -- and he wasn’t overly fond of water, Crowley did enjoy seeing Aziraphale happy. The angel was practically overflowing with glee, which was always a potent balm for any annoyance Crowley might be feeling. 

Once on the beach, Aziraphale chose a spot for them and planted the umbrella firmly in the ground. He stared out at the sea and took a large, fortifying breath. Crowley shielded his eyes and peered out across the water. It was a beautiful day, they’d gotten quite lucky. When Crowley noticed Aziraphale staring at him, he sighed and shrugged. 

“All right, fine. This is nice, okay? I admit it,” he said. 

Aziraphale smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and sat down under the umbrella. “Come and sit with me, my dear. It’s actually quite comfortable.”

Reluctantly, Crowley sank down onto the pebbles beside Aziraphale, wincing a bit as he tried to get comfortable. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t got a bony arse.”

Aziraphale chuckled and conjured up a small pillow for Crowley to sit on, which did make things more bearable. Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley on the cheek, and Crowley felt himself go bright red. Public displays of affection were new for him -- for both of them, really -- it took time to abandon the fear that you’d be smited if your innermost feelings were made known. They were getting there, though -- holding hands felt normal now, and kissing was the next step. For now, a quick kiss on the cheek was doable. 

Crowley leaned closer and linked his arm with Aziraphale’s. “Is this what you wanted, angel? Is this what you had in mind?”

“Precisely this,” said Aziraphale. “Only…”

“What? What’s missing? Just tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

Aziraphale smiled and trailed his fingers along Crowley’s jaw. “An ice cream? It would just complete the day, don’t you think?”

Crowley wanted to sigh, wanted to make a fuss. But it was impossible in the face of Aziraphale’s incandescent smile. The sun was playing along the white blond of his hair, creating something of a halo and making him look more angelic than usual. He could see the pale hair on Aziraphale’s forearms, and it made him sweat even more than he was already sweating. 

“Yup, all right,” he said, at last, and heaved himself up off the ground. 

Luckily, you couldn’t walk two feet without encountering some type of cool treat option. There were sorbets, frozen yogurt, non-dairy products, and regular old ice cream. Crowley knew that Aziraphale was the sort of angel who preferred full-fat, traditional ice cream, so he chose that stand. After much deliberation, he opted for a chocolate-vanilla swirl. He turned away, and then turned back and got himself a small scoop of pistachio.

“Oh, thank you,” said Aziraphale, eagerly taking the swirled cone from Crowley. When he spotted the small cup in the demon’s hand, he gave him a sly smile. “I thought you weren’t a fan of ice cream. Or the sea, for that matter.”

Now Crowley did sigh, sitting back down beside Aziraphale. “Just don’t let this get around, all right?”

“Of course,” said Aziraphale. “Must maintain your reputation, after all.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale swirl his tongue around the ice cream, humming appreciatively. He balanced his own ice cream on one knee and reached out to hold Aziraphale’s free hand. Aziraphale squeezed his fingers and leaned against Crowley’s shoulder. They stayed on the beach long after the ice cream was gone, late enough to see the sun set over the water.


	9. Bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cold snap in London inspires Aziraphale to make a bold proposal. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Four months after the apocalypse_

It was a particularly cold day when the idea occurred to Aziraphale. The kind of cold that shoots directly through your overcoat and into your very bones. That morning, he laid in bed beside Crowley and watched him as he slowly woke up. As though he knew Aziraphale was watching him, Crowley’s eyes snapped open, the golden glow matching the sun streaming in through the window. There had been many mornings like this one, but Aziraphale never tired of seeing Crowley stretch and yawn and smile up at him. 

“Good morning,” he said, slipping his fingers into Crowley’s messy hair. 

“Mm, morning,” said Crowley. “Any idea what day it is?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Thursday? You know, I’m not entirely sure.”

“The days are beginning to run together a bit,” said Crowley, smirking at him. “When did you last open the shop?”

“Goodness, I couldn’t say,” said Aziraphale. “I simply haven’t felt the need to.”

“Oh? Other things you’d rather be doing?”

“Yes, my dear. Mainly you.”

Crowley snickered, clearly proud of the lewd remark, and pulled Aziraphale down for a kiss. “You know, if it really is Thursday, I should probably make a trip back to the flat.”

“Oh?” said Aziraphale, peppering gentle kisses at the edge of his mouth. “Whatever for?”

“The plants,” said Crowley. “They’ll be getting complacent. Besides that, I should water them.”

“Ah, right,” said Aziraphale, rubbing his thumb against Crowley’s snake tattoo.

It had been several months since the apocalypse was averted, and they’d spent most of that time with each other. In fact, the only time they were apart was when Crowley returned to his flat every few days. Even then, Aziraphale sometimes accompanied him, unable to bear the separation. It was partly a persistent worry that Heaven and Hell were coming for them, ready to enact retribution for their little trick. But it was partly a simple desire to be together, after so many years of being unable to acknowledge their feelings. 

Aziraphale wondered why Crowley was even maintaining his flat anymore. Sure, he’d lived there for many years, but it was more a base of operations than a home. He’d admitted as much to Aziraphale on numerous occasions. He was spending quite a lot of time at the bookshop, and he’d already been there rather frequently during their years monitoring the Antichrist. Now that they’d made things official, so to speak, why did he need his flat at all?

“It’s rather a cold day, I’m afraid,” said Aziraphale, spotting a thin layer of frost at the edge of his bedroom window. “Would you like a scarf?”

Crowley frowned, clearly annoyed that he had to accessorize his stylish outfit according to the weather. “Yes, all right.”

When they were both dressed and out of bed (after a bit more shameless snuggling), Aziraphale retrieved a thick wool scarf from his chest of drawers. It was a warm burgundy color that complemented Crowley’s fiery hair. Aziraphale wound it loosely around his neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Crowley blushed slightly and smiled in a positively sappy manner. 

“I’ll be back,” he said. “Do you need anything from the shops, angel?”

“Actually, I think I’ll go out as well,” said Aziraphale. “We should have some more tea on hand if it’s going to stay this cold.”

“You know you can just...miracle some in, right?” 

“I like going to the shops,” said Aziraphale. “I like speaking to that lovely man at the newsagent’s.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow at him and slipped on his sunglasses. “Should I be jealous?”

“Not at all, my dear. You know my heart belongs to you,” said Aziraphale. “Besides, the lovely man has a lovely wife, and I believe three lovely children.”

“All right, then,” said Crowley. “See you soon.”

They kissed goodbye once more, at the door to the bookshop, and then stepped outside and went their separate ways. Aziraphale soothed the pang in his chest by pretending they were a human couple, each going to their place of work. He wasn’t sure how the humans handled it, being apart for hours each day. He felt grateful, for the umpteenth time, that they had no more obligations. After so much time spent waiting, surely he could handle these short moments away from Crowley. 

When he returned to the bookshop with tea and some rather tempting biscuits, Aziraphale paced near his desk. He glanced out the window every now and then, expecting to see the Bentley each time. At long last, the vintage car did pull up to the curb, and Aziraphale hurried to the front door to let Crowley in. 

“Fucking hell,” Crowley swore, shivering and rubbing at his own arms when he came inside. “Too bloody cold.”

“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale, locking up the shop again. “Come here, let me warm you up.”

Crowley went willingly, slipping into his embrace. He pressed his cheek to Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale had to force himself not to recoil from the freezing flesh. Instead he held his demon close, rubbing his hands up and down his back and turning to press kisses to his ear. 

“You shouldn’t have to go out on days like this.”

“I know, but I can’t just abandon the plants.”

“How were they, then?”

“Just in need of water,” said Crowley. “And a stern talking to.”

“Maybe...maybe you could bring them here,” said Aziraphale. “Then you wouldn’t need to leave to take care of them” 

Crowley went still in Aziraphale’s arms. “I didn’t...that is, you wouldn’t mind a bunch of plants crowding up the shop?”

“If you hadn’t noticed, my dear, the shop is already quite crowded,” said Aziraphale. “A few plants might actually brighten the space, add some liveliness.”

“They might encourage more customers.”

“Not if the shop is closed.”

“You can’t stay closed forever.”

“Says who? We can do as we please now, after all.”

Crowley pulled back slightly, just far enough to look at Aziraphale. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, and Aziraphale could see the mixture of fear and hope in his eyes. “What are you saying, angel?”

Aziraphale swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I’d like you to stay here. Get rid of your flat, and just stay here. With me.”

There was a pause, a quiet moment during which Aziraphale panicked and wished he could suck the words back into his mouth. But then Crowley pulled him into a hug and buried his face in the angel’s neck. Taken aback by the sudden surge of affection, the increase in love swimming through Crowley’s aura, Aziraphale fought back tears. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s temple and took in a shaky breath. 

“I suppose that’s a yes?” he asked. 

“Fuck, yes. Of course it’s a yes,” said Crowley. 

They stood there for a long while, arms wound tightly around each other. When they broke apart at last, the lush plants that Aziraphale had seen in Crowley’s flat were littered around the shop. Safe and warm inside, they set about arranging the plants and building a new shared space.


	10. Body Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley perfect their impressions of each other.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

The first thing Aziraphale noticed about Crowley’s body was his hips. Truth be told, they were the part of the demon’s body he’d spent the most time trying (and failing) not to ogle. It was one thing to watch the pendulous swing of those hips as Crowley sauntered down the street or into the back room of the bookshop. It was quite another to feel their range of motion for himself. It was instantly and absurdly erotic. He would need to practice walking all night if he was going to fool anyone into thinking he was Crowley. 

“How do you control these?” he asked, feeling quite strange about speaking in Crowley’s voice. 

“Didn’t come with a user manual,” said Crowley. “So I don’t really have any wisdom to impart.”

“Good Lord,” said Aziraphale, taking a few experimental steps forward. “These trousers are very tight, aren’t they?”

“It’s the style,” said Crowley. “Can’t believe I’ll be stuck in this bowtie for the next couple of hours.”

“That was purchased on Savile Row nearly fifty years ago,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll thank you to keep it safe.”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Crowley. “Can’t make any guarantees once I’m upstairs.”

Right, Aziraphale thought. This was only step one, and he had no idea what step two would entail. He'd never been to Hell, obviously, and he couldn’t help but feel frightened at the prospect of entering that unknown realm.

"What can I expect?" he asked. "In your...with your lot, I mean."

"Damp, but hot at the same time," said Crowley. "They've really perfected humidity, I'll give them that. And, I mean, not all demons look like me. You know that, right?"

"Mm, yes," said Aziraphale. "Lots of reptiles and amphibians are involved."

"Yeah, lots of scaly skin down there," said Crowley. It was so odd to see his expressions translated onto Aziraphale's own face. It was like looking into a bizarre enchanted mirror. "What about up there? Anything changed since I was there?"

"Oh, yes, rather a lot," said Aziraphale. "It's less about clouds and comfort, and quite more about minimalism and bright light. In fact, you might enjoy their new design scheme."

Crowley scrunched up his nose. "Doubt it. At least my decor comes with some style."

"Well, style for someone," said Aziraphale, glancing around at Crowley's flat, which appeared to consist mainly of concrete. 

"We aren't all overly tolerant of dust bunnies, angel," said Crowley, smirking at him. Aziraphale was positive his face had never looked like that before. Later, when they changed back, would he remember these expressions, this drawl?

"You certainly spent a lot of time amongst that dust you complain so much about," said Aziraphale. "Listen, is this as strange for you as it is for me?"

"Even stranger," said Crowley, tugging at his collar. "You're so bloody buttoned up, angel. How do you breathe like this?"

"You're talking to me about being buttoned up?" Aziraphale scoffed and reached down to pull ineffectually at the denim material along his thighs. "Are these painted on?"

"No, but they may as well be," said Crowley, barely holding back a chuckle. "You know, I just miracle them on and off. I've never tried to undress the human way."

"I can see why!" said Aziraphale. "These are positively absurd."

"Oh, wow. Yes, all right, this is really strange," said Crowley, staring at him. "It just hit me all at once. You know you can't speak like that in Hell, right? They'll know straight away it's not me."

"Good Lord, you're right," said Aziraphale, holding a hand to his forehead. "I need to be a bit more…_hey, guys. Just had a stupidly expensive coffee, glued some coins to the pavement. Great day so far._"

Crowley laughed loudly and slapped his knee. "Perfect, you've got it."

Aziraphale frowned. "You're making fun. I sound ridiculous, don't I?"

"No, really it's great," said Crowley. "The voice is half of it, quite honestly, and you've got that. Just coat everything in a generous layer of sarcasm before talking."

"You needn't be so sarcastic all the time, you know," said Aziraphale. 

"Sure I do," said Crowley, waving him away. "Listen, what about me? I just need to use far more words than any sensible being would need to traverse a sentence. Rather like this?"

Aziraphale folded his arms over his chest. "I believe I use just the right amount of words."

Crowley shook his head, laughing again. "You really don't. But I guess that's just because you're so bloody English. You're not actually English, you know. How did you end up so English?"

Aziraphale squirmed and bent his knees, trying to persuade the trousers to loosen their grip on him. "Not sure. It just sort of...happened."

"Well, anyway. I think we'll be fine. I mean, we've certainly spent enough time together. Didn't know it would come in handy quite like this."

"Neither did I," said Aziraphale. "It's not as though I was consciously studying you. But I suppose I do know your mannerisms and such."

"Go on, give us a walk," said Crowley, gesturing down the hall. 

Aziraphale tried not to blush as he recalled all the times he'd watched Crowley walk away from him. Then he set off down the hallway, legs practically crossing over one another as he swung his hips and made his lurching way forward. As he turned to walk back, Crowley applauded slowly, grinning like a fool.

"That's it, you've got it," he said. "I guess it is a bit weird, eh? I've never seen it from this perspective."

"It's all about ignoring the trousers," said Aziraphale. "If I think too much about them, I might just topple over."

Crowley nodded. "Sure. They're very fashionable, I promise. And expensive. Look, how's this?"

Crowley walked down the hall in Aziraphale's body, hands held behind his back as he strode forward. As he turned to come back, he moved his hands to his front, clasped in a slightly worried embrace. It was spot-on, though Aziraphale was a bit embarrassed that he walked like that. He simply nodded to Crowley. "Yes, well done."

"Oh, I think you mean tickety-boo," said Crowley, and Aziraphale felt the strangest sensation of watching oneself from above. 

"I hope they come for us soon," said Aziraphale. "I'm not sure how much of this I can take."

Crowley circled him and jutted out his lower lip. "Oh, is my vessel not comfortable enough for you?"

"I didn't say that," Aziraphale protested. "It's mainly the trousers. But I suppose if you aren't dressed like this it would send up red flags."

"If I have to wear tartan, you have to wear those trousers," said Crowley. 

"Right, well. What now?"

"We wait," said Crowley, shrugging. "I might get some rest, actually."

"Oh, yes," said Aziraphale. 

"S'been a long day. Apocalypse and whatnot," said Crowley. "You can join me. If you'd like."

It felt like a temptation, but Crowley was leaving it up to Aziraphale, just as he had when he'd invited him over. Aziraphale didn't sleep much, and he didn't feel a sudden urge just because he was in Crowley's body. All the same, to lay beside the demon for a short while, before they went to their possible doom, might be nice. 

Once Crowley was settled and snoring, Aziraphale rolled onto his side and watched him. Though he was looking at himself, it was indisputably Crowley. The demon was there in the lines of his face, in the looseness of his limbs. Aziraphale felt a frisson of worry trail up his spine. If this trick couldn't fool him, how would it fool the archangels?

But then he realized -- they didn't really pay him much mind, did they? And they certainly weren’t as familiar with Crowley as he was. The only reason this seemed odd, the only reason he could see the cracks in the facade, was because they knew each other so well. Yes, he thought. This would work out just fine.


	11. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley return to the scene of one of their fiercest flirations.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_Paris, 2020_

It seemed that Paris was an ever-changing beast, changing far more frequently than Crowley and Aziraphale. In 1793 it had been the rather electric and exciting site of revolution. Many years later, when Aziraphale had returned to help with the war and the influenza epidemic, it had been a sad shadow of its former self. Now everything in Paris seemed bright and cheerful, but perhaps that was just a side effect of Crowley holding Aziraphale's hand.

It was the first day of an indefinite stay in the city, which had begun on a summer's day when Aziraphale was too focused on the torrential rain outside to concentrate on his book. He had declared that English summers were depressing, and that rain in other places was far more romantic. Like Paris, he'd mused, where one could walk side by side with one's lover under an umbrella. 

Moments later, Crowley had presented him with two tickets for the Eurostar. Aziraphale, amazed, thanked him profusely. For once, he hadn't been sneakily asking Crowley for anything; he'd simply been bemoaning the weather. But he wasn't about to turn down a trip to Paris. 

Luckily, there was no rain in Paris, so they were able to hold hands rather than fumble with an umbrella. They'd woken up that morning in their lovely, romantic hotel suite and ordered room service. There had been crepes, of course, but also eggs benedict and fresh fruit and strong coffee. Aziraphale ate most of the breakfast cart, while Crowley kept to the coffee. All the same, Aziraphale insisted they stop for a croissant as they set out for a day of exploring. 

A stop at Shakespeare and Company was a must. Aziraphale lost himself in the stacks while Crowley made conversation with the woman at the till. She seemed amused by them as a couple, especially when Aziraphale emerged with three new books and Crowley instantly offered to carry them. The woman winked at Aziraphale as they left, and he quietly ensured that she would be able to adopt the puppy she was researching on her phone.

Without quite planning it, they ended up in the vicinity of the Place de la Bastille. There were many places on earth that Aziraphale associated with Crowley, but this was rather high on the list. He would never forget how delighted he’d been to hear the demon's voice that day.

"My dear," he said, squinting at Crowley in the afternoon sun. "I must confess something."

Crowley smirked at him. "Is it about the Bastille? And the ridiculous idea that you'd be reprimanded for 'frivolous miracles'?"

Aziraphale gaped at him. "You...you knew?"

"Not for certain, but it smelled fishy," said Crowley. "I mean, you used a miracle to change your clothes moments after you told me you shouldn't be using miracles."

Aziraphale blushed. "And you saved me anyway."

"Of course!" said Crowley. "I'm no fool, angel. I know we were playing a game back then. The whole bloody eighteenth century felt like a drawn out flirtation."

"It did, rather," said Aziraphale, clutching Crowley's hand tighter and moving closer to him. "Those were thrilling days."

"You must be joking," said Crowley. "Would you rather be back there, pining away with no resolution in sight?"

"No, of course not," said Aziraphale. "Obviously it's much better to be standing here with you now. But you have to admit, there was a certain romance behind all that secrecy."

"Angel, you’re blowing my mind right now," said Crowley. "That wasn't romantic, it was horrible! Having to hide all the time, having to pretend."

“I didn’t know things could be any different,” said Aziraphale. “I suppose I was just happy to see you at all, whatever the circumstances.”

Crowley sighed and lifted their joined hands to kiss Aziraphale’s knuckles. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a baguette and a beret, and we can finish off this day right.”

In the evening, as the sun began to set, Aziraphale steered them toward the Pont des Arts. They hadn’t made up an itinerary for their trip -- they hadn’t even bought return tickets yet -- but Aziraphale had a few stops in mind. He knew it was sappy, visiting the bridge where all the humans placed their “love locks,” but he felt they’d earned some sap. As they approached the bridge, he heard Crowley begin to chuckle. 

“Listen, I know,” said Aziraphale, hoping to stem the tide of mockery. “I just thought it might be nice. You know, in the spirit of doing as we please and not having to worry whether anyone knows about us.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley, rummaging in his jacket pocket and holding up a lock. “It’s just that I had the same idea.”

Aziraphale laughed and leaned in to kiss the demon’s cheek. “You sneaky serpent, you.”

The sky was growing dusky as they clicked their lock into place. Crowley snapped his fingers and bonded it to the bridge itself. Aziraphale said it was a touching gesture of everlasting love, but Crowley insisted it was only to annoy the city when they tried to remove it. Aziraphale leaned against the edge of the bridge and smiled when he felt Crowley’s arm around his waist. He shifted to put his arm around Crowley as well, and they stood there together in the city where they’d flirted clandestinely all those years before. Aziraphale felt foolish for what he’d said -- this was far more romantic than sneaking around.

When he turned to look at Crowley, he found the demon already gazing fondly at him. He thought he’d caught glimpses of this expression before, in quiet moments, usually accompanied by alcohol. But now he was treated to the loving gaze on a regular basis, and he couldn’t quite believe it was possible. He leaned in, and Crowley dipped his head to meet him for a kiss. It still felt revelatory to not have to push him away. 

“You were quite fetching in that revolutionary garb, my dear,” he said, when they broke apart, foreheads still pressed together.

“Mmm, and what about you?” said Crowley. “I was glad you kept the ruffles, at least. Couldn’t help but think of clutching them and pulling you close.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” said Aziraphale, enjoying the way Crowley blushed when he called him that. “I do love you so.”

Crowley, always better with actions than words, pulled Aziraphale close and kissed him sweetly. It was overwhelming, and Aziraphale felt sure he would melt into a puddle and sink right into the Seine. But he managed to remain upright as Crowley kissed his way from the corner of his mouth to his earlobe, biting gently at the soft skin there. 

Then Crowley purred into his ear, “Shall we go back to the suite?”

“Oh, yes, please,” said Aziraphale. There was no point in playing coy any longer.

Though there was an abundance of restaurants Aziraphale would like to try for dinner, they ordered room service again that evening. They were simply too exhausted to do anything else. Besides, they were here indefinitely, and there would be plenty of time to eat their way across the city.


	12. Crowley's Flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel visits a demon’s flat for the first time. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_London, The Night After the Apocalypse_

There was a bus that came to get them. It wasn’t meant to be heading toward London, but it went there all the same. For the first time in his long existence, Aziraphale actually felt exhausted. He dropped onto the threadbare upholstery of the bus seat and, almost without thinking, placed his hand atop Crowley’s. Crowley did not jerk away, or throw him off. He simply turned to stare at him quizzically. 

“What is it, dear?” said Aziraphale, head muzzy from floating around without a corporeal being, and then inhabiting a new body for hours. 

Crowley tilted his head down pointedly, and Aziraphale followed his gaze. When he realized where he’d placed his hand, his first instinct was to hurriedly take it back. He should apologize, probably, and say it was a mistake. But the world nearly ended. Satan himself came up through the pavement, and Aziraphale had seen Crowley more scared than he’d ever seen him before. They’d nearly lost it all. If not now, when?

“Is that all right?” Aziraphale asked. “I mean, do you mind?”

Crowley raised both his eyebrows and shook his head. “Who, me? No, I don’t mind.”

“Right, then,” said Aziraphale, and he left his hand right where it was. 

At some point, Crowley shifted his legs as a sort of distraction and flipped his hand over. Aziraphale responded by pressing his fingers into the spaces between Crowley’s, squeezing gently, bonding their hands together. The countryside was whizzing past and, though he didn’t want to look directly at him, Aziraphale thought that Crowley might be smiling a bit. 

Aziraphale shut his eyes, just for a moment, and the next thing he knew Crowley was tapping him on the shoulder. He jerked awake, a bit confused to find himself on a bus. 

“We’re here, angel,” said Crowley, his voice overly gentle, as though he knew Aziraphale might be disoriented. 

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale, blinking hard a few times. “Shall we?”

As Crowley stood, he let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale tried to ignore how disappointed that made him feel. His hand was a bit sweaty, but it was also warm in a comforting sort of way. He followed Crowley off the bus, quickly conjuring up some money to give the driver for his trouble. The poor man looked rather confused to be in London. 

Aziraphale had never been to Crowley’s flat, and he had no idea what to expect. The building was sleek, sharp, expensive -- much like Crowley’s chosen form and fashions. They rode up several floors in a shiny elevator with glass walls. Aziraphale had to shut his eyes to avoid getting dizzy. The doors opened with a ding, and Crowley led the way into the hall, at the end of which was a door with the number “666” printed on it.

“Oh, honestly,” said Aziraphale, rolling his eyes. “Did you plan this?”

Crowley glanced back at him, and though he was visibly tired, he flashed him a smile. “Had to, didn’t I?”

There was no key to Crowley’s flat. Instead, he drew his sigil on the spot just above the knob, and the heavy concrete door swung open. There was a small entryway, followed by another door. When Crowley opened that one, he turned back to Aziraphale to offer a word of warning.

“Mind the mess,” he said, extending one long leg over a generous spread of something that looked and smelled disgusting. 

“Oh, dear. Trouble?” said Aziraphale, looking at the mess just enough to edge his way around it but not enough to make out what it might be. 

“Disagreement with a colleague,” said Crowley, but did not explain further. Aziraphale decided not to ask any follow-up questions. 

As soon as he was past the mess, Aziraphale had a proper look around. Crowley had a desk, which was a surprise, and a rather ostentatious throne, which was not a surprise. Most interesting of all was the veritable jungle he seemed to be cultivating in a well-lit room just off his study. 

“My goodness,” he exclaimed, hurrying over to inspect the room further. “Crowley, these plants are magnificent.”

“No, they’re not,” said Crowley, practically growling the words. “They have a lot of improving to do. So don’t even _think_ of telling them what a good job they’re doing. They are _slackers._”

“I see,” said Aziraphale, a bit alarmed to see the plants actually shaking with terror. He turned away from them reluctantly and spotted a statue at the end of a long hallway. “What’s this?”

“Er, you don’t want to see that,” said Crowley. 

But Aziraphale was already walking down the hall. The closer he got, the more apparent it became -- the statue was a rather lewd depiction of an angel and a demon. For reasons he could not quite explain, Aziraphale’s bowtie began to feel a bit too tight. 

“They’re wrestling,” said Crowley, who was suddenly right behind him. “Y’know, for dominance. As you can see, the demon is winning. So. Just maintaining the old image.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale. “Jolly good. Although...they don’t really seem to be wrestling, do they? If they are, it’s all a bit Greco-Roman, isn’t it?”

Crowley made a strange sound and then cleared his throat. “Yup, that must be it.”

Behind him, Crowley strode away down the hall, but Aziraphale continued to study the statue. It really was hideous, but there was something oddly transfixing about it. Eventually he tore himself away and went to find Crowley. The demon had conjured up a comfortable looking sofa across from his big screen TV and was currently sprawled in one corner of it. 

“Are you quite tired?” Aziraphale asked him, hovering near the couch. 

“Knackered,” said Crowley. 

“I expect you’ll want to sleep, then.”

“In a bit,” said Crowley, glancing up at him. “I’m good here for now. You could...join me.”

If Crowley had said this two days ago, if he’d invited him to his flat two days ago, Aziraphale would have demurred. It wouldn’t do to be spending time in the demon’s living space. It was one thing for Crowley to come to the bookshop. That was a place of business, after all, and they were often discussing the business of the arrangement. But that was then, and now Aziraphale happily took the seat next to Crowley, pleased to find the couch nearly as comfortable as his own. 

“You could come closer,” said Crowley. He’d taken off his glasses, and he kept looking over at Aziraphale rather nervously. 

Aziraphale shuffled a bit closer, and then closer, and suddenly their thighs were touching. They were sitting as close as they had on the bus, and Aziraphale supposed they might hold hands again. But before he could make his move, Crowley made quite a show of stretching out his arm across Aziraphale’s broad shoulders. His slender hand came to rest on Aziraphale’s upper arm, and he gave him a sort of awkward, one-armed hug. 

“This is rather cozy,” Aziraphale remarked. 

“Is it all right?” Crowley asked. “Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind,” said Aziraphale.

After a moment or two, he relaxed further into Crowley’s embrace. The couch was soft, and Crowley was warm. He could feel heat radiating from the demon everywhere their bodies were touching -- along the ribcage, and down their thighs. It didn’t take long for Crowley to fall asleep, arm still wrapped around Aziraphale, and Aziraphale summoned the courage to brush some hair off Crowley’s tired face.

There was no telling what might come next, but for now they had this.


	13. Godfathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel finds a demon’s disguise quite alluring.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_The Dowling Estate, 2013_

When Aziraphale first saw Crowley’s nanny disguise, he knew he’d made a grave error in constructing his own. He thought they were supposed to be lying low, but Crowley may as well have pinned peacock feathers to the backside of her new pencil skirt. He was a bit ashamed to admit it, but Aziraphale had hid in the hedges the first time Crowley showed up at the Dowling household. He hadn’t wanted to be seen, but he followed Crowley’s lithe form as it glided along behind little Warlock.

Of course, they eventually did run into each other. One day Aziraphale was sitting on the garden wall eating his lunch when Crowley sauntered up, dark glasses perched just so and deep purple lipstick smeared on her lips. There was something about the way the color mingled with the fiery red of her hair that caught the eye. 

“Nice outfit, dear,” said Crowley. 

“It’s a bit much, I know,” said Aziraphale. 

“We did agree on disguises,” said Crowley. 

“Yes, but I didn’t know that yours would be so…”

“Fetching?” said Crowley, a twinkle in her eye. 

“That is most certainly not what I was going to say,” Aziraphale grumbled, taking another bite of his sandwich. 

“Warlock asked me just the other day whether nannies and gardeners ever fall in love.”

Aziraphale nearly choked on bread and cheese. “What on earth? What sorts of ideas have you been putting in his head?”

“I’m fairly certain this was all his,” said Crowley. “Perhaps he’s just observant.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aziraphale demurred. “What could he be observing?”

“I’m not sure,” said Crowley, with a shrug of her shoulders. “I hadn’t noticed anything, certainly. But he did mention something about you watching us the other day when you were pruning the bushes.”

“Merely keeping an eye on the boy,” said Aziraphale. 

“Sure, sure,” said Crowley, nodding. 

Aziraphale popped a grape in his mouth and was reminded of the Globe Theatre, when they’d stood together and watched a fledgling production of Hamlet. So much had changed since then, and yet so much was the same. It was still so damnably difficult to take his eyes off Crowley. 

“It’s interesting that he would say that, though,” said Aziraphale, mouth running on ahead of his brain. “The thing about godfathers -- or godparents, I should say -- is that they’re usually a couple.”

“What?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. How could he be expected to say the words a second time? Crowley stared at him, waiting for an answer. 

“I...nothing,” said Aziraphale, at last. 

“We are something of an odd pair,” said Crowley. “Always have been.”

“Do you think of us that way? As a pair?”

“Probably shouldn’t,” said Crowley. It was impossible to tell what she was looking at with those blasted glasses in the way. 

“No, of course not,” said Aziraphale. “Though we have spent a lot of time teaming up on things.”

Crowley glanced around the garden, brows furrowed. “You can’t just say things like that, angel. People are watching, more than usual these days. We’re taking a big risk just by being here.”

“Ah, we’ve always been able to explain it away before,” said Aziraphale. Something about the garden and the large house made their being together feel truly covert. It put his mind at ease, in a way. They weren’t exactly meeting in the bookshop; who would expect them to be here? “Do you know, Gabriel thinks we haven’t crossed paths on earth yet.”

Crowley quirked one eyebrow and huffed out a laugh. “Well, I’d never accuse Gabriel of being very bright.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” said Aziraphale. Now it was his turn to glance nervously around the garden, the illusion of safety destroyed so quickly. 

“I think it’s more likely they’re not very interested in us, or earth,” said Crowley. “All the more reason to continue on with this, eh? Tempt, thwart, and the boy will be average. Earth will be saved.”

“We can only hope,” said Aziraphale, his throat suddenly dry.

“I should be getting on,” said Crowley. “It’s storytime for Warlock.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Crowley glanced over her shoulder at him. “We’ll both be here. Enjoy the view.”

For a moment, Aziraphale wasn’t sure what Crowley meant by that, but then he caught sight of her swinging hips. She sauntered a bit more than normal as she made her way back to the house. Aziraphale blushed and set aside his lunch, too preoccupied to finish.


	14. Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Heaven and Hell ever turn off the tap on them? 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co  
Two months after the apocalypse_

“Should we still be using miracles? Demonic or otherwise?”

Crowley paused, considered the question, and then continued dragging his nails gently up and down Aziraphale’s spine. “Dunno. It’s a bit early for existential questions, angel.”

Aziraphale ignored him. “A more important question might be: why are they still letting us use our powers at all? Heaven and Hell, I mean. Shouldn’t they have turned them off by now?”

“Why? They’re terrified of us. At least, if what we did really worked, then they’re terrified of us. If they flip the switch, there’s no telling what we might do.”

Aziraphale chuckled and pressed his face into Crowley’s chest. “I rather like these other versions of ourselves you’ve conjured up.”

“You don’t think we’d go and get our powers back?”

“I think we’d stay here and keep doing what we’ve been doing for weeks.”

“Are you saying that sex has gone to our brains?”

“That is precisely what I’m saying, yes.”

Crowley smirked to himself. Little did Aziraphale know, he’d been addling Crowley’s brain for a very long time. Basically since the garden. Most days he’d had to reach deep into himself and pull out some sort of motivation to do anything besides go and visit Aziraphale. So this wasn’t new to him, there was just less pining and far less disappointment now. 

“Ooh, here’s another interesting thought.”

Crowley let his head fall back against the wall with a _thunk._ “Angel, you’re destroying me. It’s too early for interesting thoughts, please.”

Aziraphale barrelled forward. “Do you think we’re still being monitored?”

“Not sure,” said Crowley. He had to admit, that _was_ an interesting question. “If we were, surely they would have come to smite us or something.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Keep in mind they would have known what you just did to me.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, and then, “I don’t think they would. They’d just know that I had lubricated my fingers.”

“To what end?” said Crowley. “And why so frequently? Getting your hand stuck in lots of jars all of a sudden?”

“Fair point,” said Aziraphale, in a very quite voice. 

Crowley smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Why all the interesting thoughts about miracles?”

“It’s just something that occurred to me,” said Aziraphale. “Do you think...what would you say to doing things the human way? Just for a day, perhaps?”

“A whole day?” Crowley groaned, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls. “That sounds like a long time.”

“Twenty-four measly hours,” said Aziraphale. “The humans do it all the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s all they know. You’ll have to make tea and cocoa the old-fashioned way. You might even have to clean up if you spill something.”

“I’ll just be careful.”

Crowley doubted this, as he’d had to miraculously rescue many a teacup from toppling off the edge of Aziraphale’s desk. But the angel seemed earnest about this, so Crowley agreed to the challenge. He was glad that he’d watched all those cooking shows over the years; he was more than prepared to make them some breakfast. Of course, there was nothing in Aziraphale’s refrigerator, so Crowley made a trip to the shop. He stared briefly at the Bentley, and then decided to walk. He did not want to experience driving with his demonic assists turned off.

Aziraphale declared Crowley’s scrambled eggs and toast “scrumptious,” though Crowley was sure the toast shouldn’t be that dark. After a quick makeout session up against the newly stocked fridge, Aziraphale said he was going to take care of some inventory in the shop. Crowley trailed after him, settling into the couch beside his desk so he could be nearby if Aziraphale needed help (i.e. if the mood struck for another makeout session).

After two hours, Crowley heard Aziraphale verbally abusing his computer. When he asked if anything was wrong, Aziraphale insisted it was fine. After a few more hours, Crowley began hearing small sounds of frustration coming from the other corners of the shop. He paid it no mind until there was a very loud _thump_ followed by Aziraphale crying out, “Blast it all!”

Crowley hurried out of Aziraphale’s office in search of the angel. He found him at the very back of the shop, sitting cross-legged next to a heavy looking stack of books. He had his head in his hands and looked very upset. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened?”

“I can’t find anything in here,” said Aziraphale, sadly. 

“What do you mean? It’s your system. Haven’t you always been able to find stuff?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, eyes a bit bleary. “I’ve got a secret, my dear. There is no system. When I want a book, I just...summon it.”

“I see,” said Crowley. He took a seat beside Aziraphale, folding up his gangly limbs. “I always just thought it was a system only you understood.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ve just been piling the books up willy-nilly as I’ve acquired them. I thought I would remember where at least some of them were, having been here for so long. But apparently my mind is too feeble to operate without the help of some frivolous miracles.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” said Crowley, shifting closer and putting his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Listen, angel. What was this all about, eh? All the thoughts about miracles?”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “What if they do, as you say, flip the switch? How on earth will we survive?”

“We’d get by somehow,” said Crowley, hugging the angel close. “And you’re so clever. It’s only been one afternoon, but I know you could set up a system in here if you had the time.”

“Do you think so?” said Aziraphale. “How...how would we make money?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said Crowley. “I have investments.”

“You do?” said Aziraphale, incredulous. “What on earth have you invested in?”

“S’not important,” said Crowley, who knew full well the angel would not approve of where he’d placed his money over the years. “The point is, let’s cross the bridge if we ever reach it. It might not even happen. Let’s just go on as we have.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Aziraphale. “Truly, though -- the state of this bookshop is astonishing.”

“Well, you’ve got plenty of time now. It could be a new project! I’ll help you with the...well, I’ll help with whatever you need.”

Aziraphale turned his head to kiss Crowley’s cheek. “Thank you, my dear.”


	15. Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That time when Crowley discovered he liked to watch Aziraphale eat.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_Rome, 41 A.D._

People had really talked up Rome to him, but Crowley was finding it to be pretty rotten. He’d been sent there to tempt Caligula, and to do something about the spread of Jesus’ remaining followers. He’d chosen to forget about the directions concerning Jesus. He’d been made to watch that poor young man die, and he wasn’t about to waste time tracking down the people who’d believed in him. Caligula, he thought, would be an easy one. But when he’d found him, it turned out the man was horrid all on his own. So Crowley had whispered in Cassius Chaerea’s ear about assassination and went on his way. A political shake-up was sure to cause trouble.

He was in a mood when he reached the bar, wanting only to drink and avoid thoughts of Heaven or Hell for a moment. 

“Crawly? Er -- Crowley?”

Of course Aziraphale was here. Of course he was. From the first time they’d spoken, on the wall of the garden, they’d seemed to be tethered together. Perhaps it was all by design -- each new mission was another move in the glacial game of chess the two sides were playing, so it made sense that he would keep running into his opposite number. If he was honest, he didn’t really mind it. Aziraphale seemed all right, for an angel. 

“Fancy running into you here,” said Aziraphale. Clearly he hadn’t worked out their cosmic connection. “Still a demon, then?”

Crowley turned and snapped at him, “What kind of a stupid question is that? What else am I gonna be, an aardvark?”

“Oh, right,” said Aziraphale. He raised his glass to him. “_Salutaria._ In Rome long?”

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation,” said Crowley, silently begging the angel not to ask any follow-up questions. He wasn’t quite up to a debrief. “You?”

“I thought I’d try Petronius’ new restaurant,” said Aziraphale. “I hear he does remarkable things with oysters.”

Crowley, on the whole, didn’t understand food. He wasn’t against it, he just didn’t see the appeal if one didn’t strictly need to eat. Besides, not bothering with food left more room for alcohol. But perhaps this could be a good distraction.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” said Crowley, taking a swig of his drink. 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. He sounded surprised, but also delighted that he might be the one to introduce Crowley to oysters. “Well, let me tempt you to--”

Crowley set down his drink and turned to look at Aziraphale. Had he actually said that? Who exactly was this angel, giving away his flaming sword and trying to tempt a demon? Sure, Crowley knew that he hadn’t actually meant it, not like that, but just the fact that he would say it was fascinating, frankly. Aziraphale was not like the other angels Crowley remembered from Heaven. He was miles away from Gabriel and Michael. 

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale, looking a bit sheepish. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

Crowley smirked at him. “Indeed it is. Listen, why are you in town?”

“I’m meant to be speaking with Caligula,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley had to bite his lip to stop from laughing like a buffoon. “They want me to try and turn him away from his sinful ways.”

“Right, well, you won’t have to worry about him for much longer. Trust me on that,” said Crowley. “Now let _me_ tempt _you_ to forget about Caligula and check out this oyster place. What do you say?”

Aziraphale fidgeted, wiggling his shoulders a bit. “Well, I suppose...yes. Why not?”

Petronius was doing interesting things with oysters. Or at least, that’s what Aziraphale said after he’d eaten his first one, and Crowley decided to take his word for it. He took one look at the nasty, phlegmy looking things sitting in their half shells and felt his stomach turn. Most food was fairly unappetizing, but this was taking things to a whole new level. 

“Positively delightful,” Aziraphale declared, as he slurped down another one. 

This was repulsive, Crowley thought. Oysters were disgusting, and this was a disgusting way to eat them. And yet he couldn’t seem to look away. He tried, he tried to just stare down into his glass of ale, but Aziraphale kept making the most obscene noises. Crowley watched as he tossed his head back to swallow another oyster, the bob of his throat, the lascivious smile on his face. It was all so absurd, why was he enjoying this? 

“Sure you don’t want one?” said Aziraphale. “There’s only one left, I’m afraid.”

“Please, go on,” said Crowley. “Frankly they look like they came out of someone’s nose.”

“Oh, but they taste so much better than they look,” said Aziraphale, quickly eating the final one.

“You’re sure? I mean, how can you taste anything when you’re just gulping them down like that?” Crowley asked, surreptitiously wiping the sweat from his upper lip. Azirapahale was licking his lips now, looking very pleased with his meal.

“It’s rather hard to explain,” said Aziraphale. “If you’d just try one, you’d see for yourself. Shall we order some more? Then you can try one.”

“Sure, go on. Order another platter,” said Crowley, who had no intention of trying an oyster that evening or ever. But he sat back in his chair, smiling to himself as Aziraphale gestured for the waiter and ordered more.


	16. First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley learns something interesting about his angel. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Two weeks after the apocalypse_

As Aziraphale gently shifted him and laid them down together on the couch, Crowley thought this might be the night. When Aziraphale had first kissed him, after they’d returned from the Ritz, Crowley had instantly wanted more. But the angel’s words from so long ago echoed in his brain, and he decided to take it slow. After all, he’d waited this long, he could wait a little while more.

They slept in the same bed each night, bodies twined together and hands gently roaming. But neither of them crossed the line into anything more. They didn’t mention it, but they seemed to agree that they needed some time. For Crowley it was overwhelming at first -- to be able to kiss Aziraphale whenever he liked, to be able to loop his arms around the angel’s waist and nuzzle his nose into that soft bright hair. But he didn’t want to wait until it all felt commonplace. He was just waiting for the right time. 

Aziraphale dug his fingers into Crowley’s hair and kissed him, sucking on his bottom lip. _Oh, yes,_ Crowley thought. This was definitely the night. He could feel something stirring in his lower abdomen, awakening something he’d only recently made an effort on. He surged up from the couch, hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck, pulling him closer, slipping his tongue into his mouth. 

“Oh, dearest,” said Aziraphale, kissing along Crowley’s jaw. 

“Hng,” said Crowley, as he felt Aziraphale slip one thigh between his legs. 

“Would you like to go upstairs?” the angel purred in his ear. 

“Is that what you want?” said Crowley, hands at Aziraphale’s hips. “Only if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” said Aziraphale, biting gently on Crowley’s earlobe. “Are you?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, moaning softly and jerking his hips up against Aziraphale’s thigh. “Oh, yes.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and they were transported to the soft, fluffy bed in his upstairs flat. Crowley smiled up at him, trailing one hand along his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Do you remember Paris? You were so dashing when you showed up in that jail cell.”

“Mm, yes, Paris was special,” said Crowley, pulling him down for another kiss. “We should go back someday.”

“It would be far more romantic now,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley gasped softly when he felt Aziraphale reach down between them. He trailed his fingers along Crowley’s taut abdomen and then pressed his palm to the growing bulge in his trousers. He jerked up against Aziraphale’s hand, overcome by the sensation from this simple touch. “Oh, fuck, that feels good. That feels so good…”

Aziraphale hummed happily against his neck. “What do you want, my dear? We can do anything you like.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Crowley, who was rather enjoying himself. He knew there were other things they could do, complicated arrangements of their limbs, but Aziraphale’s hand was undoing him already.

“Well, what do you like? What have you done before?”

Crowley froze; he had no idea how to answer that question. Aziraphale clearly noticed the sudden change in his demeanor. He shifted his hand to Crowley’s hip and smiled gently at him, not pressing him but letting him know he was listening. 

“Er...this is my first time, angel,” said Crowley.

“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale, his expression soft and sweet. “I didn’t know.”

Crowley swallowed thickly and tried to smile back. “Isn’t this your first time?”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, slowly. “This is my first time...with you.”

Crowley blinked. “What? No, actually, _what_?”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, my dear.”

“I’m not bloody embarrassed, I’m shocked is what I am. You...you’re always wearing at least four layers of clothing. You stay in most nights and read and drink cocoa.”

“And some nights...I don’t,” said Aziraphale, smiling cheekily at him. 

“When...with _whom_ have you been doing these things?” said Crowley.

“Oh, various...people...over the years,” said Aziraphale, a bit bashful.

“Oh, no,” said Crowley. “Oscar Wilde? Was Oscar Wilde one of them?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Crowley gaped at him. “You did, you _fucked_ Oscar Wilde.”

“Shush,” said Aziraphale. “None of that is important now. All those dalliances, they...they were a balm at the time, a mere substitute for what I actually wanted. They can’t compare to this, it’s not possible. I’ve longed for you forever, my dear.”

Crowley snorted. “No pressure, then.”

“None at all, truly.” Aziraphale leaned down to kiss him softly. “I just want to be with you. And we have all the time in the world to, shall we say, perfect our technique.” 

Crowley gazed up at him, amazed and dumbfounded at the same time. He thought he knew everything there was to know about Aziraphale, but apparently there was more to reveal. He supposed he should be embarrassed that he -- the demon -- was not experienced in lustful ways. But he wasn’t; he was simply eager to see what his angel knew. 

“Right then,” he said, winking up at him. “Do your worst.”

“Oh, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, shaking his head. “I’ll only ever give you my best.”


	17. Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Rome, to see the Sistine Chapel. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_Rome, 2020_

"Well, obviously I can't go in. I can't even set foot in the strange little city."

"Of course. That's why I'm saying I don't need to see it."

"But you want to."

"It's not important, there are many other sights to see."

"But we're here now. Why deprive yourself?"

"Because you can't enjoy it with me, my dear. It's fine, honestly."

Crowley sighed and adjusted his glasses. He could tell by Aziraphale's fidgeting hands that he really did want to see the Sistine Chapel. He'd mentioned in passing that he'd never seen it properly, only in bits and pieces when he'd been in Rome on business. He'd seen the frescoes in various stages of completion, and he'd once spoken to Michaelangelo, but he'd never had a leisurely walk through the building to take it all in. When he and Crowley had decided to pop to Rome for a quick holiday, Crowley had had all this in mind. He wanted his angel to see the Chapel in all its glory this time. But the bastard was choosing this moment to be less than selfish.

"Come on," Crowley whined. "I'd rather you just go see it than argue with me here. We’re making a scene."

"This is not a scene," said Aziraphale, rolling his eyes. But he did glance around to make sure no other tourists were having their trips ruined by their _discussion._

"It's approaching a scene," said Crowley. "Now go on. Go and see it, and take your time. I'll be fine here."

Aziraphale bit his lip and wrung his hands some more. He stared at Crowley for a moment, and then shook his head. "Oh, fine. Otherwise we'll be here all day."

"Good," said Crowley. "But no rushing back, all right? I mean it -- take a long walk through and get a proper look. Enjoy it, angel."

Aziraphale softened, smiling at him. "Thank you, my dear."

This level of gratitude from Aziraphale was not new, and it should not have flustered Crowley as much as it did. It was new, however, for the angel to kiss him and hold his hand in view of the whole world, and he did both those things now. He rocked up on his toes to kiss Crowley's cheek, and squeezed his fingers gently.

"See you soon," said Crowley, painfully aware of the fact that he was blushing.

Aziraphale nodded to him and set off toward the Vatican City. Crowley watched him walk away, in his linen trousers and short-sleeved shirt -- his holiday clothes. Moments later, he watched him walk back, a bit faster.

"Not that soon, surely," said Crowley, chuckling.

"No, I've just had a thought," said Aziraphale. "Do you have your telephone with you?"

"My _mobile phone_?" said Crowley, smirking at him. "Yes, I do. Why?"

"May I take it with me? I'll be careful with it, I promise. Only you'll need to show me how to take pictures with it."

Crowley's smirk became a full-on grin as he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. "Want to get some selfies with the muscular angels?"

"No, silly," said Aziraphale, looking a bit flustered. "If I take some photographs, then we can enjoy it together, later on today.”

"Oh," said Crowley. "Oh, that's...thank you."

"Don't tell me you're still surprised when I want to do something nice for you," said Aziraphale. "You know I rather like you, just a bit. Now show me how this contraption works."

“For starters, let’s not call it a _contraption,_” said Crowley, fondly.

Though Aziraphale was patently uninterested in using up-to-date technology, he was a very fast learner. After Crowley had explained the touch screen, given Aziraphale his code to unlock the phone, and shown him the camera app, Aziraphale proudly took a picture of him.

“That’s rather good, actually,” said Crowley. Aziraphale had framed the shot perfectly, and the sun was striking Crowley’s hair just so.

“Perhaps I should get one of these mobile phones,” said Aziraphale, looking very pleased with himself. “Then that picture could be my background.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to kiss Aziraphale in public, just a quick peck on the lips. As the angel turned to leave, Crowley patted his bum, eliciting a satisfied smirk and a soft, “Well, really.” Crowley loved Aziraphale-on-Holiday; he was cheekier than normal and predictably enthusiastic about trying new treats they found on their travels. Aside from all of that, Crowley very much enjoyed when the angel dressed down. It didn’t happen very often, but seeing his forearms in public or his bum in the tartan pyjamas he often wore was thrilling. 

Aziraphale was gone for three hours. The worst part of this was that Crowley had surrendered his phone and had nothing to distract himself with. After one hour, he asked a nearby tourist how long the Sistine Chapel tour typically lasted. Once he knew he had some time to kill, he strolled to a nearby cafe and ordered many cups of strong Italian coffee. Eventually he made his way back to the edge of the Vatican City to wait for Aziraphale. He smiled and waved when he saw the angel approaching, and then frowned when he realized that he was walking very fast indeed.

“What’s wrong?” he said, holding out his arms. 

“I got into a bit of an argument with someone over the _Last Judgment_ fresco. I’m afraid we need to leave.”

Crowley let out a peal of laughter and hurried after his angel. “I love you. You know that, right?”


	18. You Go Too Fast for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time it really is about driving.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_South Downs, 2020_

Aziraphale may not have had to worry about Heaven any longer, but he was still a worrier. The current focus of his fretting was the fact that every time he rode with Crowley in the Bentley, he felt as though his insides were about to escape through his mouth. The first time it happened, on their drive from London to their new cottage, he’d thought it was just nerves. But then it just kept happening and ruining trips into town. 

He wasn’t sure why this had never happened in London. Come to think of it, it hadn’t happened on their excursion into Tadfield either. Perhaps, he thought, it had something to do with one’s stress level. Now that he was not consumed by the troublesome and impending end of the world, his mind was able to focus on other things. Now he was focusing too much on the movement of the car, the way it rumbled over divots in the road and jostled him around. 

Aziraphale had been putting off mentioning this to Crowley and was instead declining drives through the countryside and insisting that walking was good for them. But his avoidance was becoming obvious, so he decided it was time to talk. 

Crowley was in the kitchen, hands on his hips, contemplating a loaf of bread he’d just taken out of the oven. Aziraphale sidled up to him and glanced down at the bread. 

“Something wrong, dear?” he asked. 

“Not sure,” said Crowley. “Does it look risen to you? I don’t think it’s risen enough. I threatened the fucking yeast before I stirred it in, and this is the performance I get?”

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s shoulder. “I’ll still eat it, darling. You’ve managed to get a beautiful crust.”

“I suppose,” said Crowley, with a sigh. He took off his oven mitts and tossed them onto the countertop. “Cup of tea? With some of those lavender biscuits I made last week?”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “I’m afraid those are all gone.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Good, I’m glad you liked them that much. I’ll make another batch today.”

“You’re too good to me,” said Aziraphale, looping his arms around Crowley’s waist. 

“No such thing,” said Crowley, ducking his head down to kiss him softly. 

Some days, Aziraphale thought he might simply melt from all the affection Crowley directed toward him. The rather absurd thing was that this was only a notch above what Crowley had done for him before. It was just that he could now call attention to it, be even more over the top. 

“Can I talk to about something?” Aziraphale asked, unsure of where to begin. 

“Of course. Is it about the yeast?” Crowley joked. “Have any inside tips on bread?”

“My dear, I assure you the bread will be delicious,” said Aziraphale. “Everything you’ve made so far has been absolutely scrummy. No, I want to talk about...your driving.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “My driving?”

“Yes, I’m afraid...well, I’ve been feeling a bit carsick when we go on drives together. And, you know, it might not be your driving at all. It might just be these country roads, if I’m honest. But, I...well, I wanted to mention it instead of just avoiding the subject. I’ve done rather enough avoiding, don’t you think?”

“I had no idea,” said Crowley, a bit sadly. “I really didn’t, angel. Have you tried miracling it away?”

“I have, actually,” said Aziraphale. “That doesn’t seem to work.”

Crowley chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “Maybe the Bentley can only handle so many miracles at once. I mean, I’m already basically running it on demonic energy, so…”

“I’m not sure what to do,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley thought for a moment, and then a grin came across his face. “I”ve got an idea. Do you trust me, angel?”

“With my life,” said Aziraphale, automatically. “What’s your idea?”

“Come on, I’ve got to test it out.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and led him outside to where the Bentley was parked. He opened the passenger side door and gestured for Aziraphale to sit. Crowley slid in on the other side and started up the car. But before he went anywhere, he held out his hand to Aziraphale. 

“Right, this might sound insane, and I don’t know if it’ll work,” said Crowley. “I’m going to try and imagine that you don’t feel ill and direct my energy toward you.”

“Goodness, that’s brilliant,” said Aziraphale, taking Crowley’s hand again. 

“Don’t speak too soon,” Crowley cautioned. “But if your miracles aren’t doing the trick, maybe it needs to be my demonic energy. Maybe the Bentley just needs a force she recognizes.”

“It’s certainly worth a shot.”

Crowley glanced over at him. “You tell me the minute anything feels off, okay? The second you feel ill, or if the demonic energy starts doing something to you, just say something.”

“I will, dear, I promise,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley nodded to him and squeezed his hand. Then he took a deep breath and pressed the gas pedal, gently at first, and then with his more typical urgency. Aziraphale began to feel the familiar nausea, just below his ribcage, and then it suddenly disappeared. He gave it a moment, concentrating to make sure the feeling truly was gone. And then…

“Huzzah! Oh, you’ve done it, my dear!” said Aziraphale. 

“Really?” said Crowley, glancing between him and the stretch of road ahead. “That worked?”

“Yes!” said Aziraphale. “I can hardly believe it myself, but I feel fine. I’m only sorry you’ll need to drive one-handed from now on.”

Crowley scoffed. “Only humans need to keep both hands on the wheel. Besides, are you suggesting it’s a burden to hold your hand?”

Aziraphale chuckled and squeezed Crowley’s fingers. “No, I suppose not. Thank you, my dear.”

“I’m glad I could help,” said Crowley, and then he proceeded to gaze at Aziraphale instead of the road for far longer than a human could have managed.


	19. Regency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I lose.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
June, 1815_

For the umpteenth time that afternoon, Aziraphale glanced up from his book to check the clock. It was a completely absurd exercise, seeing as he had no way of knowing when Crowley might return. The only thing for it was to keep busy, but for once he was unable to concentrate on reading. He stood up from his desk, impatient with his own restlessness, and walked to the back room. He put on some water for tea, and then dashed back into his office to check out the window again. There was still no sign of Crowley. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure why he was so worried. But when Crowley had won the coin toss for the Battle of Waterloo, Aziraphale had offered to take this one instead. After all, he had been a soldier of Heaven. Though he hadn’t been particularly fond of battle, it was at least familiar to him. But Crowley had insisted on sticking with the coin’s ruling. 

They had worked both sides of a battle on many occasions, as Heaven and Hell found it alarmingly easy to take sides in the humans’ wars. Having been around for all of these squabbles, Aziraphale and Crowley had each spent time on the battlefield. They had both managed to make it out unscathed from several sticky situations. But the Napoleonic Wars had been a bit mad, and suddenly Aziraphale felt concerned for Crowley’s safety. 

When his kettle let out a loud whistle, Aziraphale jumped and rushed to remove it from the heat. Just as he was pouring the water into his teapot, he heard the bell above the shop door jingle. If it was a customer, he was going to actually lose his mind. Slowly, tentatively, he edged into his office and peered around the pillar to see who had come in. He was delighted to find Crowley standing there, in his suit and top hat. Aziraphale gathered up his emotions and went to greet the demon. 

“Welcome back,” he said, pretending that he hadn’t been counting the hours to his return. “I take it everything went well?” 

“Done and dusted,” said Crowley. He set his cane down near the door and swept his top hat off his head. “How are things on the home front?”

“Oh, forget that, nothing was happening here,” said Aziraphale. “Are you all right? How was the battle?” 

“You know battles,” said Crowley, shrugging his shoulders. “Two sides enter, one side leaves. Lots of muskets and rifles, and soldiers in sharp uniforms. Awful lot of bloodshed, unfortunately.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, swallowing thickly. “Not very keen on the bloodshed.”

“I did get stabbed a bit,” said Crowley, as though it were nothing. 

“Stabbed?”

“Just a bit! With a bayonet. I healed it, no problem, obviously.” 

“My dear boy, you weren’t supposed to be in the thick of it,” said Aziraphale. “You know it’s best to whisper in an ear here, affect some supply lines there…”

“I tried, but it was a bloody melee,” said Crowley. “Honestly, it was no big deal.”

Aziraphale shook his head, trying not to think too hard about Crowley struck down amongst a group of soldiers, hastily repairing his wound. All that mattered, he reminded himself, was that Crowley was standing here now, whole and healthy. 

“Don’t you want to know who won?”

Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley smirking at him. After they’d tossed for the battle, they’d made a little wager of their own. Whichever of them correctly guessed the outcome of the skirmish would be allowed to choose their next outing. Aziraphale had a new patisserie all picked out and ready to go, should he win.

“Go on, then,” he said.

Crowley grinned. “England and its allies. I’m afraid little Napoleon is off to exile. Again.”

“Oh, bother,” said Aziraphale. “Napoleon had been on quite a streak, that’s the only reason I chose him.”

“You were so smug, you thought you had this won,” said Crowley. 

“Well, I suppose that means the blessing worked out,” said Aziraphale. “That’s all that matters, really.”

“Who’s to say the blessing helped England win? Maybe it was the tempting, maybe it was just the humans all on their own.”

“Indeed,” said Aziraphale. “Well, then it’s back to Vauxhall Gardens?”

Crowley clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully. “You’ve got that right. Wear your best shoes, angel, because we’re taking the long way through. Are you ready now?”

“I haven’t got anything on for the rest of the day,” said Aziraphale. “Yes, let’s go now.”

“Whatever will the neighborhood do if you close the shop?” Crowley teased. 

“Oh, shush,” said Aziraphale. He shrugged on his overcoat and tugged his top hat onto his head. “You old serpent.”

Crowley had dragged Aziraphale to the pleasure gardens an absurd number of times. They’d gone in the old days, when it had first opened, but now that they both lived in London it was easier to pop over for a quick stroll. Of course it was never a “quick” stroll with Crowley; the demon had to stop and examine each plant they came upon. Aziraphale had first found this endearing, and then annoying, and now it was becoming endearing again. 

Yes, he’d wanted to try out the new patisserie. Yes, the gardens were a bit boring for him now. But really, it didn’t feel as though he’d lost the wager at all. As he watched Crowley study a fruit bush, Aziraphale felt a sense of calm and contentment with the world. He was glad that all had gone well at Waterloo, at least for Crowley.


	20. Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://buggre-alle-this-for-a-larke.tumblr.com/post/186302604653/proof-that-crowley-stayed-at-aziraphales-after), Aziraphale and Crowley’s evening after the events of the show’s first episode.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Monday, Six Days Before the End of the World_

“Something's changed,” said Crowley sniffing the air. 

Aziraphale nearly blushed, flattered that Crowley had noticed. “Oh, it's a new cologne. My barber suggested it.”

“Not you,” Crowley snapped. “I know what you smell like.”

Aziraphale blinked a few times, his brain struggling to catch up. Crowley knew what he smelled like? Certainly, they spent a lot of time together, but he had no idea the demon had been _sniffing_ him. It made him feel a bit hot around the collar, but now was not the time, as Crowley was staring into the middle distance, concentrating. 

“The Hellhound has found its master,” he said, suddenly. 

”Are you sure?”

“I felt it,” said Crowley, nodding. “Would I lie to you?”

“Well, obviously,” said Aziraphale. “You're a demon. That's what you do.”

“Well, I'm not lying,” said Crowley, frowning. “The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He's named it, it's done. He's coming into his power. We're doomed.” 

“Well, then,” said Aziraphale. “Welcome to the end times.”

He took a drink of his whiskey, and then looked up to see Crowley staring at him. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong_?” said Crowley. “This is it, angel. We wasted eleven years on some other child, and now we don’t even know where the actual antichrist is.”

“All right, so things look a bit dire.”

“A bit?” Crowley spluttered. “Things looked _a bit dire_ eleven years ago, when we sat over there and agreed to try and influence the boy. Now things are absolutely cataclysmic. Apocalyptic, some might say!”

Aziraphale tried to smile and reassure Crowley that everything would work out, but he found that he couldn’t. He felt as though he couldn’t get a full breath, as though something were standing on his chest. Of course, Crowley was right -- they’d wasted all that time, and now armageddon was heading straight for them anyway. 

“Would you like something stronger to drink?”

“What’ve you got?”

“I know this isn’t our usual tipple of choice, but I may have some vodka squirrelled away here.”

Aziraphale turned and opened the bottom cabinet of his wine rack. All the way at the back was an old bottle he’d brought back from a mission in Moscow during the middle of the last century. It had been cold and miserable, and he’d spent the entire time cursing Crowley for most likely rigging the coin they’d used to toss for the assignment. The only thing that made those frigid nights bearable was a quick swig of vodka, so he’d brought some home.

“Here we are,” he said, setting the bottle on the table. 

Crowley drained his glass of whiskey and slammed it on the table in front of Aziraphale. “Fill ‘er up, barkeep. To the top, and keep ‘em coming.”

The vodka made Aziraphale feel pleasantly warm, until the room began to tip sideways. But Crowley kept drinking, so he did as well. Soon they were both slumped on the table, and the sky had grown dark outside the bookshop windows. 

“Did I mention the gorillas?” said Crowley, slightly muffled by the jacket sleeve that was invading his mouth. “‘Cause it’s not their fault.”

“I know, the gorillas,” said Aziraphale. “D’you know who...who really gets a raw deal in all this?”

“Who? Tell me.”

“Us,” said Aziraphale, waggling a finger between them. “You and me. They’re the ones who...who kept us down here all this time. Why shouldn’t we get attached, eh? And now it’ll all...it’ll all be blown to bits? S’not fair.”

“I like alcohol,” said Crowley, which was evident from the nearly empty bottle of vodka on the table. “I like wine, and whiskey, and even vodka has its place. Hell, I’ll even have an ale now and again. A nice brown ale can hit the spot.”

“Port, and brandy,” said Aziraphale. “Cocoa and biscuits, sticky toffee pudding, mille feuille, that cake with the gooey center…”

“All done by the humans,” said Crowley. “Won’t be any of that upstairs or downstairs.”

“A bloody shame.”

Crowley groaned and heaved himself up off the table. “Fuck, I’m pissed. I should go home.”

“You can’t…” Aziraphale trailed off, interrupting himself with a hiccup. “You can’t go home like this. You’re falling down drunk. You should...stay the night.”

“I could just sober up.”

“But isn’t it...didn’t you once tell me how nice it is to sleep while drunk?”

“Damn, you’re right," said Crowley, looking wistful. "Would you mind? I could take the couch."

"Of course I don't mind," said Aziraphale. 

"Right," said Crowley. He stood up on shaky legs and lurched into Aziraphale's office in pursuit of the couch.

"Just don't forget to sober up," said Aziraphale. "Crowley? Did you hear me?"

Aziraphale shuffled into his office and found Crowley lying face down on the couch, legs bent at what must surely be an uncomfortable angle. But the demon was snoring, so Aziraphale didn't want to disturb him. He plopped down onto his desk chair and folded his hands on his belly. As he sat there watching Crowley sleep, their conversation tumbling through his vodka-soaked brain, Aziraphale realized something. There was one more quite significant thing that would not be upstairs: Crowley. 

Surely they were more worrisome things about armageddon, surely. Yet all Aziraphale could think of just then was spending eternity in Heaven without Crowley. He would never see Crowley again, Crowley might even be destroyed in the battle that ensued. Aziraphale sighed heavily and covered his eyes with one hand. 

He must have dozed off for a bit, and when he startled awake it was the middle of the night. Crowley was still crumpled into the sofa, face turned sideways now and sunglasses on the floor. Aziraphale, realizing how awful he felt, quickly sobered up. He ought to wake Crowley and get him to sober up as well. But he didn't have the heart to disturb him. He'd been so upset, perhaps he needed the rest. 

Aziraphale stood beside the couch, concentrated on the two of them, and snapped his fingers. In an instant they were in his flat above the shop, Crowley sprawled on his rarely used bed. The demon stirred slightly, mumbling something, and then curled onto his side. Aziraphale settled into an armchair beside the bed and picked up a book he'd begun several nights before. He tried not to stare at Crowley, but it was difficult. He'd never seen him sleep before and was surprised by how peaceful he looked.

Around about nine o'clock in the morning, Crowley was still sleeping. Aziraphale remembered that Crowley had once slept for decades, and he hoped that wasn't the case now. When he stood up to open the shop, he hovered by the bed for a moment. He felt an oddly powerful urge to kiss Crowley's head or touch his hair. Shaking himself, Aziraphale turned decisively away from the bed and went downstairs.

One hour later, Crowley had still not appeared. Aziraphale was considering checking on him when he felt the sudden presence of fellow angels. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the shop. Gabriel and Sandalphon were milling about, glancing confusedly at his books. 

"Can I help you?" he said, trying to sound calm. There were human customers browsing, and for once he was glad they were there. 

"I would like to purchase one of your material objects," said Gabriel, always so stiff and out of place down here. 

Aziraphale glanced out the window, just past where the angels stood. Crowley was there, on the sidewalk, making his way to the Bentley. He watched him, trying to determine how he was feeling. It was impossible to tell, of course. When he snapped back to the situation at hand, Gabriel was saying something about pornography. 

"Please," he said, trying his best to smile cordially at the beings who would so easily discard this world. "Come into my back room."

As he followed the angels through his office, Aziraphale caught sight of Crowley’s discarded sunglasses where they’d fallen the previous night. He deftly kicked them under the couch as he walked and remained calm. He was glad that Crowley had left; he couldn’t bear to think what might happen if Gabriel and Sandalphon found him here.


	21. Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slow evening in the South Downs seems like just the time to try dancing. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_South Downs, 2020_

It was one of those perfect evenings. Though, if pressed, Aziraphale would admit that all their evenings lately had felt rather perfect. Tonight seemed especially perfect, with the setting sun streaming through the front windows of the cottage and the fireplace lit. Aziraphale had settled into the sofa in their living room to read and wait for Crowley to return from the greenhouse. He was pleasantly full from dinner, which had been lamb with shallots, followed by poached pears for dessert. Crowley was expanding his skills in the kitchen, and Aziraphale was enjoying the benefits of this new hobby. Obviously, he still enjoyed dining out, but there was something special about eating in one’s own kitchen, with food cooked by one’s partner. 

The sun had nearly gone down by the time Aziraphale heard the back door open and close. He felt a slight frisson of worry zing up his spine and glanced back to be sure it was only Crowley. Hopefully that worry would disappear completely one day, but for now it was still present. Some days he didn’t think about Heaven and Hell at all. Other days the fear that they were still being tracked latched onto his brain and would not let him enjoy anything. He’d learned how to tell Crowley when he was having one of those days, and Crowley had learned how to react. They’d known each other for so long, but some things still needed to be uncovered. 

“Just me,” Crowley called from the kitchen. “Want some tea?”

Aziraphale wanted a large mug of cocoa to go with his book. But more than that he wanted to see Crowley. Yes, they'd only just seen each other at dinner, but that didn't mean Aziraphale couldn't miss him already. He set down his book and walked to the kitchen, where he found Crowley filling the electric tea kettle. Aziraphale came up behind him and looped his arms around his waist.

"Hello," Crowley purred, switching off the tap.

"Hello, my love," said Aziraphale. "Could I have a cup of cocoa, please?"

"Course," said Crowley. "You could've asked that from the couch. Then you wouldn't have to get up."

Aziraphale leaned his chin on Crowley's right shoulder. "But I wanted to see you."

"I would've been there in five minutes," said Crowley, chuckling. "You know, this throws a wrench into my plans to wait on you hand and foot."

"Oh, stop," said Aziraphale. "You just cooked me a delicious dinner. You're spoiling me enough, trust me."

"Mmm, never enough," said Crowley. He spun around so that they were face to face, mere inches from each other. He leaned in and kissed Aziraphale softly.

Aziraphale smiled into the kiss and gazed up at Crowley as they broke apart. "Dance with me."

"What?"

"You heard me, let's dance." 

"Angel, the only dance you know calls for at least eight more gentleman," said Crowley, smirking at him. 

"So an old dog can't learn new tricks? Come on, let's give it a try."

"Apologies in advance to your toes," said Crowley. 

The phrase 'unmitigated disaster' is thrown around a lot, but it could safely be applied to the foray made into dancing that evening. Crowley, having seen many methods of dance in movies and on television, tried to approximate the simplest of steps. Aziraphale, having absolutely no frame of reference beyond the ballets and musicals he'd been to, simply came at the task with gusto. This turned out to be a dangerous combination, as evidenced by the many cries of "ow" that could be heard between them. Eventually they dissolved into laughter, clinging to each other to remain upright as they howled at their own ineptitude. 

"An old dog cannot learn new tricks," said Crowley, wiping tears from his eyes. "Let's try to remember that, eh?"

"Oh, good Lord," said Aziraphale, clutching his chest as he caught his breath. "How do humans manage it? Do you suppose we're missing something particularly human that makes it possible?"

"I have no idea," said Crowley, shaking his head. "Tell you what. Let's just...let's try this."

He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist and leaned in close, swaying his hips this way and that, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Aziraphale hesitantly followed his lead, worried that he might somehow put Crowley's eye out. But after a moment it felt more natural, and soon they were simply swaying together in their kitchen, heads touching and breath mingling.

"There," said Crowley, softly. "Doesn't need to be fancy."

"No, indeed," said Aziraphale. Their synchronized movement was nearly lulling him to sleep. "You smell wonderful, darling."

"Big fan of the smell of fertilizer?"

"No, you don't smell of greenhouse," said Aziraphale. "You just smell of you, all...sort of smoky and rich."

"You smell of books," said Crowley. "And poached pears. Give us a kiss, I'd like a second helping of dessert."

Aziraphale laughed but indulged him, turning his head to capture Crowley's lips. The demon's hands crept up from his waist to cup his face and hold him there, seemingly intent on devouring him. They stopped swaying and were soon simply making out in the kitchen. When Crowley finally released him, Aziraphale was surprised that smoke wasn't rising from his ears. 

"Goodness," he said, feeling a bit weak in the knees. 

"What would you say to some sofa cuddles?" said Crowley. "With the possibility of something a bit more racy taking place?"

"Hmm," Aziraphale hummed, leaning in to kiss him again. "Yes, please."

Crowley took his hand and led him back to the living room. They settled into the couch together, Aziraphale with his back against the arm and Crowley leaning against Aziraphale's chest. The sky outside was streaked purple and orange as another day came to a close. Soon Crowley shifted on the couch and leaned over Aziraphale, smiling down at him. After he'd had his wicked way with him, Crowley sauntered into the kitchen, fully nude, to make his angel a cup of cocoa.


	22. Golgotha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a bit gloomy around Easter.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_South Downs  
April, 2020_

"Does this happen every year?"

"Does what happen?"

"Oh, come now. Do you think I haven't noticed how grumpy you've become?"

"Grumpy? Me? I'm pure sunshine, angel."

"I'm sorry, but you're not. You've been snapping at waiters and moping around the house. Do you want to tell me what's wrong, or shall I guess?"

"You seem to know everything, so go on. Guess."

"It's nearly Easter," said Aziraphale, and Crowley went silent. Aziraphale reached out to take his hand. "You know, the end result of the whole story is rather nice. Jesus did ascend into heaven."

"After being brutally tortured and murdered," said Crowley. "He was just a bloke from Galilee, he didn't deserve any of that."

Aziraphale agreed. He had always agreed with Crowley's views on this matter, having been there himself to see the extraordinary suffering. Jesus wasn't a divine figure, he had simply preached a message that God favored, and which led to the creation of Christian church. All the suffering that happened to him was the humans' doing, but Crowley couldn't accept that God let it all happen. In Heaven, the ascension was seen as Jesus' reward, but Crowley saw it as an inadequate consolation prize.

"What can I do to help?" he asked. In the past, he would have argued about it with Crowley, taking Heaven's side. Now there was no need to put up the false front, as he was no longer Heaven's man.

"I dunno, angel, it's just one of those things," said Crowley. "Don't you have things you just can't shake, no matter how much time passes?"

"Yes," said Aziraphale. He didn't like to speak of it, but he thought perhaps it might help Crowley to commiserate with him. "The Plague. Such terrible suffering on such a grand scale. I couldn't do anything, as you well know."

Crowley had found Aziraphale in a small French village in 1349. He'd set up a clinic of sorts but ended up digging more graves than anything else. By the time the demon arrived, Aziraphale was nearly mad with grief and guilt. Crowley had gotten him to step away and tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault. Eventually Aziraphale had let go of it -- he'd had to, time just kept moving forward -- but he was still reminded of it from time to time. 

"Why couldn't you interfere? What did they tell you?" Crowley asked. 

"It was all part of the great plan," said Aziraphale, frowning. "We could only interfere if directed to do so -- you know, relaying messages and such. Part of my duty was guidance, but it was mostly observation...bearing witness."

"Whereas I was meant to interfere everywhere, in any way," said Crowley, smirking. "Just not in the way that I wanted."

"I know," said Aziraphale, squeezing Crowley's fingers. "That's all in the past now."

Crowley leaned his head against the back of the couch. "We're too old, angel. We've seen too much."

"Yes, but some of what we've seen has been wonderful," said Aziraphale.

"Not much."

"Oh, you can think of something. Think of all those people helping out during the Blitz, or da Vinci with his futuristic drawings, or all the lovely music we've heard performed live."

"Botanical gardens," said Crowley. "Soldiers calling a ceasefire for Christmas in the trenches."

"You see?" said Aziraphale. "Besides, the best part of all is that I've seen everything -- the good and the bad -- at your side."

Crowley looked at him with wide eyes, as though he was still surprised that Aziraphale cared for him. He'd always loved him in this way, only now he was able to do something about it. If he wanted to be a sap, he was bloody well going to be a sap.

"And whatever else happens, I'll still be right here, with you," he said.

"Oh, angel." Crowley turned his head to nuzzle against Aziraphale's ear. 

That night Crowley went to bed early, and Aziraphale expanded their duvet so that it was almost comically large and fluffy. He laid beside the demon, stroking his hair as he drifted off to sleep. In the morning Crowley seemed more like himself, and Aziraphale made a mental note to preempt the moping the following year.


	23. Shakespeare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale see _Hamlet_ together.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_London, 1776_

Crowley saw the pamphlets and knew Aziraphale would want to see the play. He didn’t know if the angel was even in London, but he figured somehow he’d turn up. He sort of hoped that he wouldn’t -- he hadn’t been lying, he truly wasn’t a fan of the sad ones. But sure enough, Crowley found Aziraphale at a cheese stall one morning in Borough Market. He tried to duck behind a flower merchant, but Aziraphale had already seen him. 

“Crowley!” he called out, and then turned to pay the cheesemonger with money conjured from nowhere. “Thank you, my good sir. Crowley -- are you trying to hide from me?”

“Oh, perish the thought,” said Crowley, stepping out from behind the flowers. “How were the colonies? I didn’t know you were back.” 

"Such a mess over there," said Aziraphale. "I mean, bless them all for trying, but everything is so new. Couldn't find a cup of tea to save my life. Anyway, the blessing and the tempting are both accomplished. I tempted someone to write a pamphlet and it got rather popular. Not sure which way that will swing."

"Fine by me," said Crowley, shrugging. Should he be the one to mention the play? Could he avoid it altogether?

"Oh, by the way," said Aziraphale, and he produced the program advertising the new production of _Hamlet_. "Have you seen this?"

"Yes, I have," said Crowley, wearily. "I suppose you want to see it?"

"Oh, can we? It's been absolute ages, what with the interregnum," said Aziraphale.

"Yes, yes, I know," said Crowley. 

"I'm a bit surprised they're still performing it."

"Really? You doubt the power of my demonic miracles?" Crowley teased. "I promised to make it popular, and by gum I made it popular."

"Of course," said Aziraphale, giving him that sweet smile that always hid secretly bastard intentions. 

Crowley stared at him, weighing his options. If he said no, he wasn't sure when he would see Aziraphale again. If he said yes, he'd have to sit through several hours of a mopey Dane dithering over whether he should kill his uncle. Crowley hated the sad ones, but he also rather enjoyed Aziraphale's company. 

"All right, fine," he said, capitulating just as he had the previous century. "Let's go."

"Lovely," said Aziraphale, with a proper grin this time. Had it been a rainy day, Crowley would have felt as though he were suddenly under his very own sunny patch of sky. 

They went to the play, and they didn't talk about business at all. Aziraphale watched the play, and Crowley watched Aziraphale. He loved to see the angel's face light up when something exciting happened and fall when Hamlet began his sadsack soliloquy. The eighteenth century had been busy so far, and Crowley felt as though he hadn't had a moment to breathe. To spend an evening like this was a reprieve, even if he would have preferred one of the funny ones. He would just have to invite Aziraphale to one of those next time.

"I don't know that he was as good as Burbage," Aziraphale remarked afterward. "But I suppose you're always biased toward your first Hamlet."

"There will be so many more Hamlets, angel," said Crowley. "You never know, another one might catch your fancy."

"We shall have to wait and see," said Aziraphale. "Do you think they'll still be performing it next century?"

"I told you, I made this one stick," said Crowley. "Honestly, I thought you were the faithful one."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Very well. Let's make a point of it, to see one performance each century. At least one."

"At least one? Are you implying that you'd like to see _Hamlet_ multiple times in one century? I'm sorry, but how is this better than _Much Ado about Nothing_?"

Aziraphale shrugged and wiggled his shoulders. "To each his own, I suppose."

_South Downs, 2020_

"It's starting," Aziraphale called from the sofa.

"Angel, I told you, we don't have to watch things live," said Crowley, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. "You want something on demand, I'll just demand it."

"Yes, all right, but there's something thrilling about watching it live," said Aziraphale. "You know, at the same time as so many humans."

"You know it's not really live, right? I mean, they've taped it and this is just when they're broadcasting it."

"Yes, I'm not an idiot, my dear," said Aziraphale, taking a generous handful of popcorn. "Now, do shut up."

Crowley smirked and settled in beside him on the sofa. Several years earlier, a new interpretation of _Hamlet_ had been performed. At the time, he and Aziraphale had been busy with Warlock, so they'd missed it. Aziraphale had been rather disappointed, as this was to be a more modern take on the play, with technology included. He never seemed to tire of new takes on the old story. 

Just by chance, Crowley caught an advert for a rebroadcast of that very performance. He told Aziraphale, and the angel who barely ever knew what day of the week it was became obsessive with his calendar. He made sure to mark off each day so he wouldn't miss the broadcast, though Crowley promised he wouldn't let that happen. 

"Oh," said Aziraphale, just fifteen minutes into the play. "Oh, this is very good already."

Crowley put an arm around the angel's shoulders and hugged him close. If someone had told him, back in 1601, that he would one day watch a new version of _Hamlet_ with Aziraphale on a sofa in a cottage that they shared, he would have said they were crazy. More accurately, he would have said they were crazy, and then pondered how he might make it actually happen. Turns out all it took was an averted apocalypse.

Aziraphale shuffled closer on the sofa, and Crowley pressed a kiss to his temple. He would sit through a thousand more performances of _Hamlet_ as long as he could do so by Aziraphale’s side.


	24. St. James' Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar question revisited in a familiar place.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_St. James’ Park, 1962_

Aziraphale knew what day it was -- it was exactly one hundred years after the day that Crowley had handed him a wretched slip of paper. Crowley had called earlier that week, asking if they could meet on Wednesday to discuss business. Aziraphale had agreed, of course, and it was only later that he realized the significance of Wednesday. Since then he’d been cycling through options for what this meeting might actually be about. He hoped for an apology for that ridiculous old request, but his hopes weren't very high.

Still, he figured that he could be wrong. This could simply be about business. The world had been rather busy, after all, and he and Crowley had had much to discuss. So he went to St. James' and sat on what they'd begun to consider "their bench.” As it was positioned directly in front of the water, where they'd stood all those years ago, Aziraphale was hard pressed to keep away from that terrible conversation. It burned brightly in his mind as Crowley made his way up the path, sauntering in his cigarette trousers and boots. 

"Hiya," he said, with a little wave. "Thanks for coming."

"What did you want to discuss?" said Aziraphale. 

Crowley let out a noisy breath. "I mean, take your pick. There's lots going on in Vietnam. We could start there."

"Yes, but why did you want to meet? Was there something in particular?" 

"What do you think of the new queen?" said Crowley. "Everything your lot were hoping for?"

"Oh, you're being purposely obtuse," said Aziraphale. "You know perfectly well that the divine has no interest in monarchies. That’s something the humans made up. Why are we here?"

Crowley sighed. “Fine, I’ll cut to the chase. I have to ask you again -- can you get me...the thing?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, honestly, _the thing._ Use a code word. If you want to be bloody James Bond and sneak around like this, at least commit to it.”

Crowley stared at him. “You know about James Bond?”

“Of course I do,” said Aziraphale. “Do you know how many people come into the shop requesting those ridiculous books?”

“Right, well. Fine, then. Can you get me the sandwich?”

“_The sandwich_? Really? That’s what you’ve gone for?”

“Come on, angel,” Crowley groaned. “You can’t force me to use a code word and then take the piss out of me for what I choose. I called this meeting, we’ll use my code word.”

“Well, you sound like an idiot.”

“All right, fine. I know you’re just stalling anyway. I don’t know why, though, because you seem to love denying me this one small favor.” 

“Because it’s a poison sandwich,” said Aziraphale, perhaps a bit too loudly. An older couple walking by with their dog paused to stare at them before moving on. Aziraphale lowered his voice. “It would destroy you.”

“You sound like a broken record,” said Crowley. “Don’t you think I know that it’d destroy me?”

Aziraphale stared out at the water. Well, there it was. That was what he'd always assumed, but it was rather worse to hear Crowley actually give voice to it. All the old feelings returned -- frustration with their predicament, sadness at the thought of a world without Crowley, resentment that he would take the easy way out. He rearranged his cravat, wishing he had something else to do with his hands as his mind ran wild.

"Listen, I didn't explain very well last time," said Crowley, leaning toward him on the bench. "It's about doing things on my own terms. We both know that Hell wouldn't take kindly to what we're doing."

"Neither would Heaven," Aziraphale reminded him. 

"Sure, but they don't have Hellfire on hand."

"How do you know that your lot have...sandwiches on hand?"

Crowley shrugged. "I suppose I don't. But they've got plenty of other torture devices. I've seen them firsthand, and I've seen them used on demons who step out of line. They wouldn't be shy with them, that's for sure." 

Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “Why do you think they’ll find out? You’ve said before that they never check up.”

“But what if they do?” said Crowley. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and Aziraphale couldn’t tell where he was looking behind those glasses. “It’s for insurance. That’s all.” 

Aziraphale nearly gave in, and he was almost positive it was because Crowley was using his tempting powers. But he caught himself and reined in the acquiescence that was halfway to his lips. “No. Absolutely not. I understand your point of view, but I don’t believe it will come to that.”

Crowley frowned and stared at him for an awfully long time. Then he shook his head and stood up from the bench. “Fine. I gave you your chance, now I’ll just have to find another source.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh, no?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, but Crowley turned on his heel and strode away from the bench. Later that evening, Aziraphale remembered Crowley hopping around in that church during the war, remarking on the holy water. He realized what Crowley meant to do now, and he tried to telephone him to talk him out of it, but the demon wouldn’t take his calls. 

It would be another five years before he caught wind of Crowley’s plans and decided to foil them.


	25. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of fantasies from their years of pining
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Four months after the apocalypse_

Aziraphale was pressed close to him, head against his shoulder, so he didn’t see his face when he first asked the question. “Did you ever...fantasize about me?” 

Crowley spluttered. “Come again?”

“Yes, I expect I will, but in a moment. I said, did you ever fantasize about me?”

This was all too much for Crowley’s brain to handle. In the months since the apocalypse didn’t quite happen, his brain had been overloaded in many ways. First there was Aziraphale’s declaration of love, then there was the first time Aziraphale had undressed him as though he were unwrapping a gift. Since then, he’d woken up each morning reeling from the realization that Aziraphale was lying next to him, sometimes asleep and sometimes reading a book. Now he had to contend with Aziraphale making sex-related puns and asking heart-rending questions like this one. 

“Of course,” he said, once his mouth could form words. “Six thousand years is a long time. Had to fill it all with something. Masturbation worked quite nicely.” 

“What did you fantasize about?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, what did you want to happen between us? What did you come back to again and again?”

“Angel,” said Crowley, with a little chuckle, his cheeks going red. “This is, I don’t...just the usual stuff. You know, I wanted to fuck you.”

“Like the statue in your flat?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Crowley. “I just...I just wanted to be with you.”

Aziraphale pushed himself up so he could look at Crowley. As their gazes met, Crowley’s breath hitched in his chest, which was absurd. He didn’t need to breathe, and he was frankly annoyed that his corporation bothered at all with these physical manifestations of his love. Certainly, some physical manifestations were fairly important to what they’d been up to for months now. But he could do without the hitching breath, the flushed face, and the occasional tears.

“I used to imagine that you’d come to the bookshop one night, sick of it all,” said Aziraphale. “You’d convince me that we should throw off the yokes of Heaven and Hell and run away together.”

“I did that,” said Crowley. “I literally said those things.”

“Yes, but not until quite recently,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t exactly have time to fantasize about you while I was worrying about armageddon.” 

“Oh, fair enough,” said Crowley. “Go on.” 

“Anyway, then we would fall into bed,” said Aziraphale. “I suppose it was rather simple.” 

“Short and sweet,” said Crowley. “Straight to the point.”

“Well, I usually tried to drag it out for as long as I could,” said Aziraphale. “You know, when I...when I gave myself permission to actually do something about it. Mostly I just thought about it. Endlessly.”

Crowley reached out to touch his face. “That’s incredibly sad, angel.”

“I suppose it is, rather,” said Aziraphale, a fake smile on his face. Crowley leaned in to kiss him, and when he pulled back Aziraphale was smiling for real. “That’s all in the past now, though. So, go on, what were your fantasies?”

“I told you, I just --”

“My dear, you can’t expect me to believe that yours were that simple,” said Aziraphale. “You’re always going on about how you’ve got imagination that the other demons don’t have. And I’m sorry if this sounds egotistical, but I’m _certain_ that you put that imagination to good use where I am concerned.” 

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, all right. But listen, you can’t tell anyone.” 

“_Who_ am I going to tell?” said Aziraphale, and Crowley had to concede the fact.

“Right, so, I’d come over here, and you’d be all nervous and fidgety,” said Crowley. He couldn’t believe he was actually telling Aziraphale about this. “I’d ask you what was wrong, and you’d say something about how you couldn’t stand to keep pretending and that you’d felt this way for ages, all that stuff. Then you’d confess.”

“Confess?” said Aziraphale, who was watching him with great interest. 

“Yeah, you’d confess to loving me,” said Crowley. “This is where it almost fell apart, every time, because I had such a hard time believing you’d actually do that.”

“Oh, _Crowley_.”

“But I could usually hold it together. If I could make it past that, the rest was easy. We just sort of fell into each other, like magnets. And it was so...I just knew you so well, I knew what you’d say and how you would be.”

“Have I lived up to those expectations?”

“You’ve exceeded them. You’ve surprised me every single time, and it never gets old.” 

Aziraphale made a desperate noise in the back of his throat, and Crowley wanted to respond, but he wasn't finished yet. “Afterwards, you would wrap me up in your arms and tell me how long you’d wanted this, and how happy you were. This was, I mean...I was really going out on a limb here, I thought, but by that point my brain would just be cruising on auto-pilot.”

“My dear,” said Aziraphale, nosing at his jaw, pressing against the side of his body. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to live with this for so long.” 

Crowley choked back a sob and cursed his corporation again. “Thanks. But, you know, it’s all right now. We have all this time, and we have each other. Why look back?”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s jaw and turned his head to capture his lips. Crowley melted against him, reeling in disbelief that this was actually happening. He pressed his hands to Aziraphale’s warm, broad back to convince himself it wasn’t a dream. It was so much better than any fantasy he'd entertained.


	26. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley confesses why he’s never been interested in reading.   
(Apologies for this being slightly out of order. You’ll get the story of how they decide to move to the cottage in a few days’ time.)
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Nine months after the apocalypse_

Aziraphale sat on a small stool between two of the shelves in his shop, books towering over him as he scribbled on a pad of paper. Crowley was sprawled on the floor beside him, one leg up and one down. Each time Aziraphale removed a book from the shelf, he handed it to Crowley, who squinted at the cover and then set it down in a pile. Occasionally, he would ask Aziraphale about the book. They’d been at it for days -- Aziraphale wanted to physically catalog each of his books before moving them all to the country. He was sure there was a simpler way to do this, mainly with miracles, but this seemed right. He wanted to touch each book, remember how he’d acquired it, and write it down. Only after he’d finished this could he move the books properly. 

“What’s this one about?” said Crowley.

“That’s _Pride and Prejudice,_ darling,” said Aziraphale, taking down another book. 

“Oh, sure. Mr. Darcy. Does he walk out of a lake in the book?”

Aziraphale frowned as he thought for a moment. “No, I don’t believe he does. Why?”

“S’just something they added to the film,” said Crowley.

“You should read the book, dear. It’s really quite good.”

“Nah, I know it already,” said Crowley. “There’s been more than one film.”

“What about _Sense and Sensibility_?” said Aziraphale, handing him that very book. 

“Right,” said Crowley, staring at the cover. “With the woman from _Love, Actually_? Yeah, that’s a good one.”

“Well, read that one.”

“I’m not looking for something to read, angel. I’m just helping with your inventory.”

Aziraphale smiled indulgently at him. “You know as well as I that ‘helping’ simply means that you snog my face off at regular intervals.”

“Are you complaining?” 

“Certainly not,” said Aziraphale. “But let’s call a spade a spade. You are a distraction.” 

“A welcome distraction,” Crowley added. 

Aziraphale glanced down at him and wondered if it was time for a snogging break. Then he thought better of it and pulled the next book from the shelf, _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall._ His copy was so old that it still listed Acton Bell as the author. 

“Here’s another good one,” he said, handing the volume to Crowley. “That’s been considered one of the first feminist novels. The heroine, Helen, scandalously pursues a career in art.”

“Fetch my smelling salts,” said Crowley. He flipped open the cover and ruffled the pages, then he set it on the ever-growing stack beside him. 

“You could read that one, too, if you like,” Aziraphale remarked, spectacles slipping to the end of his nose as he jotted down the title. 

“Angel, are you trying to improve me or something?” said Crowley.

“I’m doing nothing of the sort,” said Aziraphale. “I assure you, you require no improvements.”

“That’s absolutely untrue,” said Crowley, but he smiled fondly at the angel. 

“I just thought you might enjoy it. You keep asking me about the books, and I’m more than happy to tell you about them, but you might have more fun if you simply read them.”

“Ah, you know me. Not really a fan of reading,” said Crowley. He leaned his head back against the shelf so he could gaze up at Aziraphale.

“Why is that, my dear?” 

Crowley shrugged and looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “There are plenty of other ways to get stories.”

“I see,” said Aziraphale, not wanting to press the subject if it made Crowley uncomfortable.

He took down the next book, _Moby Dick_, and handed it to Crowley. When Crowley took it, he paused and glanced up at the angel. “It’s my eyes.”

“I’m sorry?” said Aziraphale.

“That’s the reason I don’t read,” said Crowley. “It’s my eyes. They don’t really...I dunno, jive with words on a page. I can see in the dark, sure, but books not so much.”

“Oh, Crowley.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me angel,” Crowley groaned. “That’s not why I told you. It’s just one of those things I’ve never mentioned because it doesn’t seem...cool. Y’know, I had an image to maintian.”

Aziraphale leaned down to kiss Crowley’s forehead. “I know you think you were fooling everyone, my dear, but I never thought of you as ‘cool.’”

“Gosh, I’m loving the honesty in this relationship.”

Aziraphale chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Dashing, yes. Debonair, certainly. But you care too much to be truly cool.” 

“Who taught you the ins and outs of coolness?”

“I occasionally read materials published in this century,” said Aziraphale.

“Cosmo? Are you reading Cosmo?”

“I’d rather not discuss it, thank you.” 

Aziraphale turned back to the shelf and pulled the next book, _Les Miserables_. He could practically hear Crowley wondering where modern magazines might be lurking in the bookshop. No matter; Aziraphale would just need to remove them from the empty tank of his unused toilet and chuck them out before Crowley went searching. 

“You know, I could...would you like me to read to you?” Aziraphale asked him. 

Crowley looked up at him, surprised. “You’d do that?”

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale. “We could start tonight. _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_?”

Slowly, a wide grin broke out on Crowley’s face. “Yeah, all right. Let’s see what this harlot is up to with her artsy ways.”

“It’s a date,” said Aziraphale, smiling back at him.


	27. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley are still learning simple intimacies.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Two months after the apocalypse_

Having Crowley in the bookshop all the time was a revelation. Of course, he'd spent quite a lot of time there over the years, but never such a concentrated period. Two months was nothing to them, as they'd lived on earth for so long. But these were two months spent in a new kind of mindset, one that allowed them to say what they liked and act as they'd always wanted to, and that made the time feel more full and precious.

Aziraphale was especially appreciative of the lack of goodbyes. There was no time at which Crowley was forced to say he had to be going. There was no clear demarcation of time spent with Crowley and time spent without him, because all time was spent with him.

For the first week or two, they spent all their time together -- laying in bed, sitting in Aziraphale's office, drinking in the back room. Crowley confessed that he was still worried about what Heaven and Hell might do to them. He expected further punishment, and those early days felt tenuous. But as they began to relax and feel that they were actually going to be left alone, they allowed each other some space. Crowley would stay in bed while Aziraphale made tea and opened the shop. Aziraphale would read in his office for a few hours after Crowley went to bed. 

In short, they were learning how to be together and how to be apart. They were learning the casual intimacy that a typical couple would have learned much sooner in their association.

On a chilly autumn afternoon, Aziraphale wandered up to the flat and made a rather lovely discovery. Crowley was laying on the bed, curled up on his side, with his wings fully unfurled. They stretched up to the ceiling, rising and falling gently with Crowley's breaths. Aziraphale hesitated in the doorway, wondering if he was perhaps intruding. He'd only seen Crowley's wings a handful of times -- on the wall in Eden, once when they were absurdly drunk, in the empty space at armageddon, and the first time they made love. He loved them, but he felt it would be rude to ask Crowley if he could see them. Now he'd stumbled upon the sight he so treasured and wasn't sure what to do.

Before Aziraphale could decide the appropriate course of action, Crowley stirred. He rolled onto his stomach and turned his head, spying the angel lurking in the doorway. 

"Hi," he said, with a sleepy smile. "Just napping."

"Ah, yes," said Aziraphale. "Do you know...? Erm, your wings are out.”

"Oh, shit," said Crowley, craning his neck to check for himself. "That happens sometimes when I nap. It's only ever happened in my flat, really."

Aziraphale took a few steps into the room as Crowley sat up. His right wing brushed the wall of the small bedroom. His red hair stood up on one side of his head, and he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. Aziraphale stepped up to him, spared a thought to close the shop, and reached out to smooth his hair. As he trailed his hand down to Crowley’s cheek, Crowley grabbed his wrist and smiled up at him. 

“I love you,” said Aziraphale. “And your wings are magnificent.”

“Not as magnificent as yours,” said Crowley, blushing slightly. 

“Shall I…?”

“Would you?”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be asked twice, he closed his eyes and reached into the interdimensional space where his wings sat. As he pulled them into the room, he stretched his neck from side to side, sighing softly. It was like finally getting to scratch your nose after having an itch for weeks. When he opened his eyes, he saw Crowley staring at him, completely lovestruck.

“Gorgeous,” he breathed.

“Is this all right?” Aziraphale asked. “Only I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to see your wings.”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe not before. But now...now I want you to see all of me.”

Aziraphale smiled as he felt tears come to his eyes. “I feel the same way, my dear.”

Crowley stood up and cupped Aziraphale’s face, pulling him into a kiss. As Aziraphale leaned in, he folded his wings around Crowley and heard the demon gasp. He swallowed the gasp with a kiss, sliding his tongue along Crowley’s bottom lip. Crowley made a needy noise, one that Aziraphale hoped he’d hear many more times, and clung to him. 

“You’re so precious to me, my dear,” he said, nuzzling his nose against Crowley’s ear. “I love having you here.”

“I can’t...I still can’t believe this,” said Crowley, his voice strained. “I thought I’d lost you, angel. I thought you were _gone._”

“I know, dear. I know,” said Aziraphale, pressing his wings in closer. “We’re safe now.” 

Aziraphale didn’t know how true his words actually were, but he knew Crowley needed to hear them. He needed to hear them, too; and perhaps repeating them would convince them both that they could just _be_ now. Crowley took a deep breath and sighed, warmth spreading against Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale could feel their wing feathers mingling, and he wished he could see the way his brilliant white looked against Crowley’s deep black. 

“We should do this more often,” he said. “If you’re comfortable with it.”

“I am, angel,” said Crowley, and he shivered slightly. “Your wings feel nice against mine.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed his cheek. “It’s sublime.” 

They lost track of time, standing there in their wing cocoon, and Aziraphale felt grateful to discover a new kind of intimacy between them. With Crowley’s head resting against his and their wings wrapped around each other, he found it easier to believe they were safe.


	28. Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the universe closes one door, Crowley opens another.
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_A.Z. Fell and Co.  
Eight months after the apocalypse_

One morning, Crowley opened his eyes to find Aziraphale laying beside him, staring quizzically at his own hand. The only time Crowley had contemplated his own hands that deeply it was the 1960s, and he’d just sampled some of Jimi Hendrix’s personal supply. When Aziraphale realized Crowley was awake, he pushed his hand beneath the pillow and looked sheepish.

“Morning,” he said, fixing him with that angelic smile. 

“What’s so interesting about your hand?” Crowley asked. “Time for another manicure?”

“Well, yes,” said Aziraphale. “But I was actually thinking about my ring.”

“Ah,” said Crowley. 

“Yes. It seems a bit disingenuous to wear it now.”

“You are still an angel, though.”

“I know, but it’s more a symbol of Heaven than of my own angelic nature,” said Aziraphale.

“Really?” said Crowley. “I thought it was just a bit of fashionable hardware you’d picked up yourself.” 

“No,” said Aziraphale. He slid his hand out from under the pillow and stared down at the ring again. “It was issued to me, when I was assigned as a principality. This was after Eden, after my assignment on earth became, shall we say, more permanent.” 

“So it’s more like a reminder that they own your ass.” 

“I don’t know if I would use those words exactly,” said Aziraphale. “But, yes. In a way.” 

“Angel, you should have chucked that the moment we got to the Ritz,” said Crowley.

“You’re right,” said Aziraphale. He brought his other hand up and twirled the ring around his pinky finger. “I wonder if they’ll be able to tell when I take it off. I’ve never taken it off.”

Crowley reached out to stroke Aziraphale’s soft, downy hair. “Do you want me to do it? Use the old ‘blame it on the demon’ excuse?”

Aziraphale huffed out a laugh and leaned into Crowley’s touch. “No, I should do this. I’m done with them, and I want to make a clean break.” 

Crowley nodded; he would have happily done the honors, but he was glad Aziraphale wanted to take ownership of the gesture, even if it was purely symbolic. Aziraphale took hold of the ring and twisted until it slipped off the end of his finger. Crowley bit his lip, and Aziraphale held his breath, but there was no crack of thunder of bolt of lightning. 

“That’s that, then,” he said, smiling weakly. “It’s just a ring, and yet it made me feel so confined all those years. Gosh, I’ve no idea why this is making me feel emotional.”

“Oh, angel.” Crowley shifted closer and wrapped his arms around him. Aziraphale pressed close to him, face nestled in the crook of his neck.

“I lived one way for so long,” said Aziraphale, his voice slightly muffled. “I have no regrets, but it’s an adjustment.”

“I know, love,” said Crowley, rubbing his back gently. “What do you need from me?”

Aziraphale sniffled and pulled back to look at Crowley with watery eyes. “Just this, just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

“I think I can manage that.” Crowley leaned in to kiss Aziraphale softly, then he took his hand and kissed his newly bare pinky finger. 

“I feel rather naked without it, if I’m honest,” said Aziraphale. 

“Perhaps you’ll find a replacement,” said Crowley, with a shrug. “You never know.”

That afternoon, Crowley told Aziraphale that he needed to handle some business with his real estate agent. He was still trying to sell his Mayfair flat, and he was on the verge of abandoning the endeavor and making everyone there forget him entirely. But he didn't actually have any showings or meetings that afternoon. Instead, he made his way to an antique shop he’d been in with Aziraphale on several occasions as the angel hunted for more books. Something had caught his eye there several months earlier, and he’d placed a mild curse to put off anyone interested in buying it. 

“I saw you looking at this a while back,” said the man in the antique shop. “When you were in here with that old-fashioned bloke. Is it for him?”

Crowley smiled and winked at him. “Good eye.”

“Best of luck to you both,” he said, nodding to him. 

With the antique piece safely in his pocket, Crowley made his way back to the bookshop. He found Aziraphale reading in his office, spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Sun was streaming into the room and playing off the angel’s hair just so. It had been nearly a year since they’d averted the apocalypse, and Crowley felt overwhelming gratitude each day. He was grateful that Aziraphale was safe, that they were able to live together and love each other, and that Aziraphale would even have him. It was a love Crowley didn’t deserve, but he was trying his best to be worthy of it.

“Angel? Do you have a moment?”

Aziraphale looked up and took off his glasses. “Certainly, my dear. What’s on your mind?”

“Us,” said Crowley. He sat on the sofa, jiggling one leg restlessly. “It’s been a long courtship, to say the least. And I know this is a human gesture, and it’s not really necessary. But, you know, what with your ring and everything...it just got me thinking.”

Very slowly, Aziraphale closed his book and set it on his desk with his glasses. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and glanced at Crowley. “What are you saying?”

Crowley took a deep breath and pulled the ring from his pocket. “Well. You said your finger felt naked without a ring, so I thought this might be a good replacement. It’s, erm, it’s Victorian, and it’s eighteen karat gold with a diamond set in the head.”

Aziraphale’s eyes got very wide when he saw the ring. “My dear. Is that a Victorian snake ring? Prince Albert gave one of these to Queen Victoria for their engagement.”

“I know,” said Crowley, smiling. “I thought it was appropriate, y’know, given that you still dress like Victoria’s at Buckingham Palace.” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Oh, you love it.”

“I do,” said Crowley, scooting closer to Aziraphale on the sofa. “I love everything about you. Which, you know, you already know. But I thought this might be nice. You don’t have to wear it. I mean, you might want to give the old finger a rest. It’s a silly idea, I can take it back. The man said ‘no returns,’ but I can change his mind.”

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, laying a hand on his arm. “I want to wear it, very much.”

Crowley swallowed, relief doing its best to chase the panic from his chest. He lifted Aziraphale’s hand from his arm and looked up at the angel, who nodded to him. Crowley slid the snake ring onto Aziraphale’s pinky finger, the gold adjusting to fit him perfectly. Aziraphale lifted his hand to his mouth to kiss the ring, and then leaned forward to kiss Crowley. It was a simple kiss, rather chaste, but it took Crowley’s breath away. 

“I’m not asking for anything, angel,” said Crowley. “I don’t want to own you the way Heaven did. Just take this as a promise. I’ll always be here, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You don’t need to ask me, Crowley,” said Aziraphale. “You’ve never had to ask. I’ve always been yours.” 

Crowley was undone, and a new wave of gratitude washed over him. How could all of this be his for the taking? How was any of this real? Perhaps the time for questioning had passed, and it was time to simply let go and enjoy his new life with his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the ring: https://www.bellandbird.com/products/victorian-era-snake-ring


	29. Bentley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a lovely day for a picnic, but they got a bit distracted…  
_[This chapter is mature/explicit]_
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

_Derwent Water, Cumbria  
Six months after the apocalypse_

“Careful with the miracles, angel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The seat...the bloody backseat just got larger.”

“That should be the least of your concerns, my dear.”

“I -- oh…” Crowley trailed off as the power to form words left him. Aziraphale drove into him at an exquisite angle, strong hands grasping at his thighs as he pushed his legs up. “Oh, fuck...not fair, really not fair.”

Aziraphale chuckled rather deviously and leaned down to kiss him deeply. “All’s fair in love and war, isn’t that right?”

“Who the fuck knows?” said Crowley, moaning as Aziraphale brushed his prostate. “I’m serious, though...I’ve never made any changes to the Bentley. Make sure you can undo what you do.”

“This is positively absurd,” said Aziraphale, moving faster now. “You love this car more than you love me.”

“Not possible. Don’t even joke about that,” said Crowley. “Oh, fuck…_angel._”

Aziraphale hummed and smiled down at him, hips snapping back and forth. This, he thought, had been a very good idea. They’d driven to the Lake District with the express purpose of finally having that picnic Aziraphale had proposed half a century earlier. The afternoon had begun perfectly innocently, with finger sandwiches and prosecco, slices of apple and brie, lemon tarts and chocolate biscuits. Crowley hadn’t eaten much, as usual, but he’d tried one of the lemon tarts, and a bit of the custard lingered on his bottom lip. Well, Aziraphale couldn’t let that stand, so he’d leaned over and licked the custard off Crowley’s delectable mouth. Crowley had stared at him for a moment and then _tackled_ him, there was no other word for it. 

This sort of reaction was fairly typical these days. With their previous responsibilities thrown to the wind, they found they had much more time for interesting physical pursuits. Besides, Aziraphale figured they had a lot of time to make up for. They’d endured millenia of pining and repression, so what did it matter if they were now fucking like rabbits? 

Neither he nor Crowley had any desire to be spied on as they went at it, so they’d hurried back to the Bentley, where Aziraphale had made his first miraculous adjustment -- darkening the windows. Crowley had frowned at this, but Aziraphale nibbled at his bottom lip, and he’d soon forgotten the transgression. Widening the backseat, however, was apparently a step too far. 

“Just look at me, darling, forget about the seat,” Aziraphale cooed, threading one hand into Crowley’s hair, tugging it a bit to hear his satisfied moan. “I love you...oh, I love you, my dearest.”

“_Fuck,_” said Crowley, again, drawing out the word as Aziraphale slowed his thrusts suddenly.. This was a good sign -- when his vocabulary narrowed to curse words and Aziraphale’s name, Aziraphale knew he was doing a good job. 

“You feel so good,” said Aziraphale, leaning down to kiss and bite at Crowley’s neck. 

“Faster, angel, please,” said Crowley, heels digging into Aziraphale’s lower back to urge him on. 

Aziraphale obliged, pleased that he was banishing all other thoughts from Crowley’s mind. He kissed along the demon’s jaw, all the way up to his mouth, where he dedicated himself to chasing after every last morsel of lemon tart. He kept up the rhythm of his hips, sliding his tongue along Crowley’s, dragging desperate moans from him. 

“Are you close?” he asked, nudging his nose against Crowley’s.

“Yes, fuck...yes,” said Crowley, his breath coming in gasps. 

“Mmm, me too,” said Aziraphale, as he slid his hand between their bodies to take Crowley in his hand. He worked his wrist, setting the rhythm to match that of his hips, and soon Crowley was thrusting up into his fist. They moved together, the sound of their combined breath deafening in Aziraphale’s ears. He was nearly there, he could feel himself reaching the edge. 

“Love you, love you,” Crowley hissed in his ear, which meant he was about to let go. Aziraphale pumped him a few more times and he came, repeating the word ‘angel’ again and again. 

As Crowley moved through his own pleasure, he clenched around Aziraphale. The added pressure, combined with Crowley’s breathless voice in his ear made Aziraphale topple over the edge, hips jerking wildly as he leaned in for a kiss, moaning against Crowley’s mouth. 

“You’re wonderful,” he said, feeling starry-eyed as he slowly came down. “You’re so good.” 

Crowley smiled at him. “That’s the orgasm talking, angel.”

“No, I mean it,” said Aziraphale. He slipped out of Crowley as gently as he could and settled on top of him as Crowley stretched his legs out along the seat. “I couldn’t ask for anything more than being here with you, than being with you anywhere at all. You put together such a lovely picnic today, you’re so thoughtful.” 

All right, so Aziraphale had a tendency to become rather sentimental after sex. The first time it had happened, after their third or fourth encounter, Crowley had been stunned. Aziraphale was embarrassed at first, thinking that he was piling on far too much too quickly. But Crowley had quickly assured him that he enjoyed it, that he was just surprised to hear the angel speak so openly about his feelings. But it was time; he had kept it all inside for far too long. 

“I’m happy to do it,” said Crowley, smiling at him and stroking his pale hair. “I expect it’s been overrun by ants now.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t dare,” said Aziraphale. “I placed a protective bubble around all that delicious food when we scurried away.”

Crowley chuckled. “Of course you did. D’you want to get back to your brie?”

Aziraphale considered it, and then snuggled against Crowley, relishing the feel of the demon’s bare skin against his own. “In a moment. Perhaps several moments.”


	30. Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several drink dates, spread across the millenia. 
> 
> [The prompts I'm using can be found here: https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final day! These ficlets have been so much fun to write, and I hope you've enjoyed reading them. Some days are better than others, I know, but the overall journey was very rewarding. Thank you for reading!!

_France, 1349_

“Here we are,” said Crowley, setting a flagon of mead in front of the angel.

Aziraphale hadn’t said much since they’d left the village. At the moment he seemed to be studying the grain of the wooden table. Crowley took a sip from his own flagon and tried not to stare at Aziraphale, tried not to expect anything from him. It was unnerving, though, to see him this silent and still. There was something gone from his eyes, and Crowley tried to convince himself that it would return. 

“It’s been dreadful,” he said at last, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. “You have no idea.”

“I’ve heard, here and there,” said Crowley. “I was up in Scotland on business, and no one there’s been ill. At least not yet.”

“Treatments simply aren’t working,” said Aziraphale, head still in his hands. “Miracles might, but I’m not allowed.”

Crowley bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a torrent of criticism about Aziraphale’s employers. Later on, when he was alone, he’d shout at Her for sending this angel into the Black Death unarmed. For now, he simply nodded, wanting to be a friendly ear for Aziraphale. The angel took the flagon of mead, seeming to see it for the first time, and raised it to his lips. Crowley watched his throat bob as he took a long drink. 

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale, when he set down the flagon. “I needed that.”

Crowley nodded to him. “Are you free to leave now? I mean, is this still your assignment?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Oh. This isn’t an assignment. I heard what was happening and asked if I could be sent here. I can leave any time, only I...I wanted to help.”

Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but he felt an overwhelming urge to leap across the table and hug Aziraphale. He held back, but only just.

_A.Z. Fell and Co., 1800_

“I’ve got a 1796 Madeira,” said Aziraphale. “Will that do?”

“Absolutely,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers to conjure up two glasses. 

“I want to start something of a wine collection here,” said Aziraphale, setting to work with a corkscrew. “Now that I have a base of operations, as it were.”

“Books and wine, two worthy pursuits,” said Crowley, smiling fondly at him. 

The cork came free with a _pop_ and Aziraphale poured them each a swallow or two, just enough for a toast. “Do you think so? I’m not sure heaven would understand. I had to stretch myself to come up with some excuse for settling here. I told them I’d be on the lookout for any blasphemous writings.”

“Good thinking,” said Crowley. “With any luck, they’ll let you skate by on that one for a few years.”

“Here’s hoping,” said Aziraphale, lifting his own glass. 

“Now, hang on, that’s not a proper toast,” said Crowley, holding up his hand. He took his own glass and stood up straight. “To Mr. A.Z. Fell, whomever he may be -- may his tenure here be long, and his wine collection graciously shared.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and glanced dubiously at Crowley. Then he clinked his glass against the demon’s and took a drink. 

“I shouldn’t be saying this out loud,” said Aziraphale, glancing toward the door of his newly christened shop. “You shouldn’t even be here, really. But listen, my door is open to you, both physically and metaphorically. I’m happy to continue our...arrangement.”

Crowley smiled and took another drink. “The feeling is mutual, angel.” 

_London, 1945_

“Gosh, that was bracing,” said Aziraphale, as he locked the shop door behind them. “Rather exhilarating, in fact.”

“I can’t blame them for celebrating,” said Crowley. “It’s been a hell of a few years.”

They’d just returned from Trafalgar Square, from wandering amidst the crowds of humans rejoicing at the end of the war. Aziraphale felt as though his skin were vibrating, as though he’d absorbed the joy and relief of all those people and now had to release it in some way. There was a definite bounce to his step as he walked to the back room. 

“Join me for a drink, dear boy,” he called to Crowley. The demon loped into the back room, hands in his pockets. “Aren’t you glad it’s over?”

“‘Course,” said Crowley. “But there is still the Pacfic theater.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders drooped. “Well, I know that. But can’t we have a moment’s celebration? Now that things are finished here, the rest is sure to follow.” 

“You’re very optimistic,” said Crowley, fixing him with a stare. Then he sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, go on, what have you got?”

“Well, champagne seems most appropriate,” said Aziraphale, bringing out a bottle he kept for special occasions. He conjured up two slim flutes and poured, handed one to Crowley and took one for himself. “To London and all its allies -- may the world now be free from conflict.”

Crowley looked a bit dubious about the toast, like he wanted to jump in and remind Aziraphale that humans seemed to enjoy fighting each other, and that it was likely they’d be doing it again in no time. But he clinked glasses with the angel and sipped the champagne. 

“No more air raids,” he said. “No more rationing, no more hiding out in the Underground...you can turn the lights on in the evening now.” 

_No more reason for us to spend so much time together,_ Aziraphale thought. Best not to mention that. The champagne fizzed in his stomach, and the energy he’d felt from the crowds seemed to dissipate. He watched Crowley take another drink and slide his dark glasses off. Before he knew what he was doing, he was mentioning it. 

"I will still see you, won't I?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "Around the city…now and again?"

"Sure you will," said Crowley. "We still have the arrangement, after all. You can't get rid of me just because the war is over."

Aziraphale tried not to smile, he truly did, but the muscles in his face were mutinous. "Jolly good."

Crowley simply raised his glass and they toasted again, this time to something unspoken but very much understood. 

_London, 2000_

“You know,” said Crowley, swirling the Châteauneuf-du-Pape around his glass. “Humans have a tradition of kissing someone at midnight, when the new year begins.” 

“Oh?” said Aziraphale, taking a sip of his wine. His upper lip suddenly felt sweaty.

“Yes,” said Crowley. He was languishing on the sofa, limbs sprawled in all directions. “And it’s an awfully special one this time around. New millennium and all that.”

“We’ve seen the rollover into a new millennium before, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t recall any kissing.”

“It’s a new thing,” said Crowley. "You know, with the ball drop."

"Ah, yes," said Aziraphale. "But you see, it's not actually midnight. You told me to come over here to see the ball drop, and the Americans are five hours behind our time. How strange...it's still the year 1999 for them right now."

"I'm not suggesting that we actually do this, angel," said Crowley, taking another drink. "I'm just offering you a trivia tidbit about the humans."

"But you're sprawling," said Aziraphale. "Whenever you've spread yourself across some surface like that, I know you're up to no good."

"I sit like this all the time."

"Precisely."

Crowley grinned wickedly and leaned closer to Aziraphale. "Are you afraid?" 

This was the wine talking, he was sure of it. They'd been drinking since midnight in London, when their chosen city had crossed into the new millennium. Crowley had persuaded him to stay, to see the ball drop on his fancy big-screen television. He shouldn't have, but Aziraphale always found New Year's Eve thrilling. It was a charming tradition the humans had begun for themselves. But now he'd placed himself in the proverbial lion's den. Or snake's den, rather.

“Certainly not,” Aziraphale lied. “It can be a gesture between friends, right?”

Crowley stared at him, but he’d kept his dark glasses on all night, so Aziraphale couldn’t read his expression. “Of course.” 

On the television, people were beginning to count down. “_Five, four, three, two…_”

As a cheer came up from the crowd in New York, Aziraphale threw caution to the wind. He leaned across the sofa and pressed his lips to Crowley’s. It was brief and simple, but it still sent a frisson of excitement up Aziraphale’s spine. He pulled away rather quickly, quite pleased to see that Crowley was still staring at him, but now clearly dumbfounded. 

“Happy new year, dear,” said Aziraphale. 

_London, 2020_

“Dreadful weather, absolutely dreadful,” said Aziraphale, shaking his umbrella as they entered the cafe. Crowley took the umbrella from him and dried it with one gesture. “Whatever happened to spring, I ask you?”

“Angel, you’ve lived in London for more than two centuries,” said Crowley. “Don’t tell me you haven’t learned its weather patterns.” 

“I may know what to expect, but I can still complain,” Aziraphale grumbled. He found an empty table and plopped down, straightening his waistcoat. 

Crowley smiled fondly at him. “What can I get you?”

“A darjeeling, please,” said Aziraphale, his expression lightening as he remembered they were here for an afternoon treat. “And a scone -- your choice.” 

“Ooh, I’m being trusted with the scone choice,” said Crowley. “Things are getting serious, aren’t they?” 

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Very serious indeed.” 

Crowley sauntered up to the counter to order their teas. He soon returned with Aziraphale’s darjeeling, an earl grey for himself, and a lemon raspberry scone. 

“Excellent choice,” said Aziraphale as he took a bite and closed his eyes to savor it. 

Crowley took slow sips of his earl grey and watched Aziraphale make short work of the scone. Soon it was gone and he was dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a small napkin. He’d ask for another, Crowley knew, but not yet. For now he sipped his tea and smirked at Crowley as he realized the demon was watching him. 

“See something you like?” he said, sliding his foot along Crowley’s thin calf under the table. 

“Yes, but I’m not sure what he wants,” said Crowley. “I mean, in the long term.”

“I’d say he wants what you want,” said Aziraphale. “This -- afternoons like this forever and ever.”

Crowley leaned toward him, chin propped on his hand. “Would the setting matter?”

“The setting?” said Aziraphale. “I should say not. As long as you were there, my dear, I’d be happy anywhere.”

Crowley smiled. “What would you say if I told you that I’ve made a rather large purchase?”

“Crowley, you needn’t make grand gestures,” said Aziraphale. “You already bought me that lovely Victorian ring. I assure you, I don’t need anything but you.”

“This is something for us,” said Crowley, reaching out for Aziraphale’s hand. “I bought a house. Well, a cottage. Near the South Downs. I thought it might be nice to have a getaway spot. You know, for when London gets too loud.”

Aziraphale blinked at him in surprise. “You bought a house?”

“A cottage. Just a small one. There’s an extra room at the back that you can turn into a library, and I can set up a greenhouse in the back garden. Maybe, you know. I just thought...are you crying?”

“A bit, so sorry,” said Aziraphale, wiping his eyes with his napkin. “I can't believe you bought us a house. A...a cottage."

"I know, I know, I should have talked to you about it first," said Crowley. "But honestly, I saw it on the estate agent's site, and it seemed too perfect. Someone would have grabbed it if I didn't. I hope you aren't upset."

"Upset?" said Aziraphale. "My darling, I'm the exact opposite of upset. I'm positively delighted. Can we see the house today? How big is the back room? Well, no matter, we can always enlarge if we need to." 

Crowley let out a relieved chuckle and sat back in his chair. "Of course, we can see it today. We can be there in no time." 

"I love you, you know," said Aziraphale. He needn't have said it; the sentiment was clear in his beaming smile and soft gaze. But Crowley did like to hear the words.

"I love you too, angel."


End file.
